Just To Tell You Once Again: Whose Bad
by One Wish Magic
Summary: The continuation of; 'And The Whole World Has To Answer Right Now.' Love, Friendship, Lies, Faith, Loyalty, Forgivness. And through it all, three friends stumble; united. Nick/Jeff.
1. I'm Not A Perfect Person

_Hello :) So here it is. I feel like I should offer an apology, I tried to get this up quicker, but life got in the way. There are a lot of things going on here, which can somtimes make it exceedingly difficult to concentrate on anything, so even when you don't here from me, rest assured that I am still working on things :)_

_Erm, just a bit of background: In this story Nick, Jeff, Trent and Sebastian are all juniours (Just because I imagine the former three as being a little younger than Kurt and Blaine, and to my mind it seems unlikely that Sebastian would transfere to Dalton for just his final year. Could happen of course, but I call creative liscence)_

_The chapter tile is taken from Hoobastank's The Reason. It seemed fitting that each chapter should be named after a relatable song :') especially since the title(s) are just one long lyric themselves._

_A word: Don't judge Nick too harsly ... you'll see why :)_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any thing. I make no profit._

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_I'm Not A Perfect Person_

* * *

><p>Regret was not a sympathy with which Sebastian was well acquainted. In his experience, life was both too short and too well verdant in opportunity for misery, to extol time in despondent self-examination. A person did what they did, whether for reason or impulse, and that was simply the end of it. No preordainment, no fate, no destiny, no covert sense to random events – just furtive figures parading in a seedy world. No, he had given up upon regret long ago.<p>

So, when he was besieged by a queer hollowness – a void which pressed itself brutally against his being – and found only distraction in his practice regimented mind; taking the guise of a single scene, repeated as if on continuous loop, he did not recognise the characteristics for what they proponed.

All he knew was that he had blown it – without a shadow of doubt. His one chance to get with a decent guy; to be respected. To experience the high of love, _romance_, as opposed to alcohol infused lust, which lent the practice momentary significance … which lent _him_ momentary significance.

Sebastian wasn't sorry for a lot of things, but he was for what he had inadvertently done to Blaine. Had fickle chance not interposed, and things proceeded as planned, his mood would have been more attuned towards elation; a lone figure upon the golden field of victory. Kurt could go and screw himself for all the head Warbler cared; he deserved everything that was coming to him. But Blaine …

Kurt hadn't won. Not by a long shot.

So maybe Sebastian wouldn't have Blaine by the end of the year – the realization assaulted him like a lash of pain driven straight to his heart – but that Nationals title was a certainty, and he could only imagine how much its loss would infuriate the former counter-tenor, who, from what Sebastian had heard tell, changed his allegiance with more frequency than his jimmy-chews, in order to side with the winning team.

If Sebastian had not hated his guts, he would have admired his tenacious commitment.

But, one day, _one day_, Blaine would want more. More than stolen touches, side-long glances, and the gentle caress of partnered lips; holding back. One day, those things would cease to be enough. And Sebastian would make sure he was available to take up the slack when that day eventually arrived.

Thought he had only just re-entered the confines of his sparse single room – the perks of a late transfer – he turned once again to vacate it. Red food colouring still staining his hands like blood.

He headed across town, leaving his blazer on. No-one noticed what you were wearing anyway. No-one ever noticed anything.

* * *

><p>Seven am came round all to eagerly for Jeff's approval, having spent the entire night in fitful snatches of sleep. He groaned and shut off the alarm with a clumsy swipe. It fell upon its face unhappily, the jarring motion transforming the diminuing sound.<p>

Reluctantly sitting up, he opened his eyes to a brand new day, before, blinking, yawning and pushing his tousled tresses off his forehead, he gazed blearily around the circumference of their shared dormitory, expecting to find something out of place.

His gaze instantly alighted upon Nick; the source of his enduring concern, and his brow furrowed. It appeared as if Nick had finally managed to fall asleep, mores the pity.

The duvet was creased and strew liberally, until a goodly portion had spilled onto the floor, and its remainder barely incubated Nick's feet where he lay, curled fastidiously against the wall. The pillow it appeared, had also taken a swan dive, or else had been cast asunder in the epitome of frustration. There could exist no sight more out of place than that.

Usually, Nick was as sedate as a log in slumber, while Jeff was the more active sleeper, with a horrible tendency to kick – room with someone for a year and you got to know their habits better than even they knew them themselves. He spent the night as a dead weight in the centre of the mattress, usually angled towards the local of Jeff's own bed, from where the two had fallen asleep talking … unless of course, something was troubling him.

Jeff hadn't needed a sleep sparse night to tell him that much, when mulling over the events of the previous evening.

He had lost count of the number of occasions on which he had been himself awoken by Nick's fitful tossing, or the sound of an exasperated groan. Each time, he had called Nick's name gently into the night; an invitation to talk, and each time, Nick had remained unresponsive, until Jeff, unable to sleep for worry himself, threw back the covers and succeeded the distance between their beds with purposeful strides. He had, however, found Nick asleep, or else feigning sleep convincingly enough to make Jeff loath to disturb him. So the blonde had trudged wearily back to his own bed, resigning himself to a night of silence and interruption.

Now, in the amber light of dawn, he tired again.

Snagging the blanket from where it lay discarded at the foot of his bed, he wrapped it tightly around himself; determined to preserve the remnant warmth and comfort of sleep for just that while longer, before padding over to Nick's bed and falling bodily onto the mattress, so that its sleeping occupant was jostled none to politely.

"Rise and shine," Jeff yawned.

To his credit, Nick stirred convincingly; stretching and blinking dazedly.

In truth, he had lain awake for the past four hours, reliving a myriad of scenarios again and again in his mind, until each found reconciliation. By his wishful reckoning; he had confessed his part in the slushie incident to Jeff, who had reacted with calm disappointment. Fast-froward a meagre allowance of days, comprised of meaningful if tense silence and tactile atmosphere, and after learning that Blaine was none the worse off for the unfortunate incident, Jeff had only been to eager to forgive him his part in it. Both were then assured that Nick, through the experience, had grown sufficiently shrewd enough not to fall into the trap of Sebastian's mind games again.

That had been the most favourable outcome of his coinage, but in the furtive hours, Nick had also comprised several decidedly less so, before the practice had become too painful, and he relented it altogether.

Why couldn't reality allow one to bypass the gritty stretches of life as easily as imagination? Learning the lesson without the hardship. Necessity was an abstract without heart.

"I'm awake," Nick assured him with a sigh.

Seeking consolation, he turned to face Jeff, only to receive a mouthful of blonde hair from where the taller had nestled his head into the crook of Nick's shoulder; a sign that he felt Nick slipping away from him. Physical proximity a poor substitute for emotional identification.

"Did you manage to get any sleep last night?" Jeff asked, with ill-concealed concern.

Nick could feel the warmth of Jeff's breath upon the exposed skin of his neck, and ironically he shivered, confused at why he found the simple sensation incredibly distracting.

"A little," he lied pitifully, and Jeff called him upon it. Nick was playing the avoidance technique.

Not one to be swayed, Jeff manoeuvred until his head rested instead upon Nick's stomach; his world rising and falling with each inhalation. From this vantage, he could observe the brunette without abridgement; witnessing the precise constitute of each expression as they blossomed and faltered. Nick shifted uncomfortably, the movement sowing aspersions of doubt that Jeff didn't want to confront.

"What's wrong?" He pleaded gently, but with marked desperation, eyes beautifully solemn; the picture of a doe. "You know you can tell me anything, Nick. Even if I don't always understand, I_ will _always listen."

Those words were meant as a comfort, but all they did was wound. How could Nick find it in his heart to hurt this boy? Once by careless action, and now again, by the confession of such. Surely it marked a sacrilege?

"I know." He tousled Jeff's already dishevelled locks fondly, savouring these last few moments of bliss, as if their propensity was already an overdraft. "I'm just afraid of what you'll say _when_ I tell you."

Jeff frowned, admittedly slightly daunted, before challenging passionately;

"Tell me anything in the world and I promise I won't judge you." His eyes were so full of sincerity that Nick was forced to look away before he drowned in it.

"I won't hold you to that," Nick's smile was full of pain, and devastating to the blonde; a damn stretched taught around an uncontainable sea, "because this time, I don't think you'll be able to do anything_ but _judge me."

" … Whatever it is, I'll forgive you," he pledged blindly. Though his conviction was strong, Jeff felt timid, those words outweighed by unknown factors greater than himself.

"I hope so."

"Nick." He tried to lay his hand upon Nick's wrist, but the brunette flinched and pulled away. Hurt, Jeff continued regardless, "you're honestly an amazing person, and nothing will ever make me believe anything less than that. You're the kindest, most –"

"Go and get ready," Nick interrupted him softly but tersely, "and then I'll tell you. That way you wont have to stay in the same room with me longer than is necessary." It was said with such self directed venom as Jeff had never heard before spoken by those lips.

Though it was nothing less than a miracle and certainly endearing that Jeff could perceive still those virtues within him, when he himself had long since resigned them to ash; the ruins of a fallen character, that moment only made them harder to hear, because they represented all the good that was about to be renounced for the benefit of truth.

Jeff intoned some obscure sound of protest, burring his face deeper into Nick's stomach, wishing now, retrospectively, that he could retract his offer of confidence. Certain that he would rather remain ignorant and hold onto everything they had in that moment, for its very existence seemed under threat.

"Go on," Nick insisted, giving his shoulder a slight shunt, "I'll even let you have first rights on the bathroom."

His attempts at humour and normality fell miserably short, not least because Nick _never_ abdicated his self instated bathroom privileges, not even for Jeff. In a few hours, the world had shifted, and they were left swaying, wondering where everything had gone askew.

The fragrant stream did nothing to sooth Jeff's consternation. And the isolated intermission did nothing to help Nick prepare for his impending disgrace. So, when the two came back together, Jeff fully readied and Nick still clad in the loose fitting bottoms and off-white tee he wore to bed, hair a beautiful mess, it was with solemn expressions and a sense of encroaching upheaval.

Reluctantly, Jeff took a seat upon the edge of Nick's bed, which the latter had still not seen fit to vacate, despite the waning hour, and looked upon the face of his best friend with fierce disquiet.

Nick however, kept his gaze averted, trained upon the floor, wringing his fingers with ever more abrupt motions. He took a deep breath, which sounded more akin to a shiver.

"What I need you to understand first is that; I never meant for it to go so far. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. You have to believe that..."

He spoke so lowly that it was a few moments before Jeff realized he was even speaking at all. And when he eventually lifted those downcast eyes, they were so full of implore and remorse and their intensity exceeded even that of the sun. It was a sight both remarkable and terrible.

"Nick ..." Jeff swallowed nervously, unable to tear his gaze away for all the wont in the world, "you're starting to scare me."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry," Nick's voice quailed with regret. "Jeff … I was involved in the attack on Blaine." As he admitted it, he put his head in his hands, despite their violent trembling, unable to face Jeff's reaction.

"W – what?" His tongue barely formed the necessary sounds. How? … _Why? _

"And worse … It was my idea."

The hang-man earned himself another pair of boots as the perpetrators scream cut short.

One minute of pregnant silence slipped masochistically into two, into three, into four, and appeared content to keep on accumulating. Finally, Nick had to look up. Somehow, the silence was worse than anything his mind had coined at liberty, even worse than disappointment, or outright anger.

Jeff hadn't moved an inch. It was as if some ambitious sculptor had rendered his likeness in wax, and life itself was simply the pieces instillation scene, for his eyes were voids; beautiful, but with no intelligent feeling behind them. He did not even appear to breath, though his trembling alone betrayed the fact that he did.

Was the moral thing necessarily the right? Or would it have been kinder to let Jeff endure in ignorance, even when he deserved the truth? But even then, what was kind, wasn't always right, and what was right didn't offer too great a consideration to kindness.

"Jeff …" He reached out cautiously, as if to grasp the blondes arm, but Jeff tore away from him in turn, standing abruptly. His expression was overcome with some painful emotion which had not yet found substance.

"Don't touch me," he warned in a tone that Nick had never heard him utter before, and least of all to himself. Though, in direct paradox with its brutal abrasion were Jeff's eyes, which elected that moment to showcase animation; pools of soul shattering betrayal and irredeemable hurt: exactly as Kurt's had been when cradling Blaine's stricken form, and no less potent.

"It was only ever meant to be a prank! No-body was supposed to get hurt; least of all Blaine," Nick cried desperately, shaking his head with sickening fervency as if the denying gesture would somehow transform reality into a liar. "I didn't know Sebastian would put something in it. I didn't even know he would aim it at Kurt specifically. If anything, it was just supposed to startle them … give us an edge."

He hung his head in shame. What good were excuses now, when _he_ didn't even believe their conviction? But yet he felt honour bound to present them, a weak form of reparation, because to say nothing seemed like admitting that he didn't care enough even to want Jeff to forgive him. And that thought was unbearable, for it would mean that there was nothing left to redeem.

"Why?" Jeff stuttered out, his voice thick and almost incomprehensible with repressed emotion, " … Just – Why? Why even do it in the first place?"

"I don't know!" Nick exclaimed in despair, dragging the tips of his fingers roughly over his face, "Because I'm a fool!" Because Sebastian was a fork-tongued adder, and a smooth criminal to boot. Because persuasion was a compelling language all of its own, and one to which, with enough provocation, every person would yield. Because Nick, it seemed was easily manipulated.

"See, I told you you wouldn't be able to help but judge me," Nick sniffed with a bitter smile, that was more of a masquerading grimace. "_I_ judge me. I don't think I've ever been so stupid in my life."

If he had expected sympathy, he didn't receive it.

"What happened to you, Nick? These days … you're like a stranger to me." Jeff spoke to the floor, and Nick wished that that same spot would open up and swallow him whole, for he couldn't remember ever feeling like this before, and if he had the choice, he wouldn't willingly again. "The Nick I knew wouldn't side with Sebastian, wouldn't betray his friends. My Nick was noble and true and – I wish he'd come back."

Jeff shook his head, sighing heavily, as if the words he spoke were redundant; said of the past in a hopeless present. Wordlessly, he crossed the width of their dormitory, grabbing his satchel and wrenched open the door, without looking back.

"Jeff – wait – _please_!" But the implore was in vain, for Jeff was already gone. This being the straw that broke the camels back.

"No-one was ever supposed to get hurt," he repeated uselessly to the empty room.

~ * … * ~

Jeff's chest ached so fiercely that it felt as if someone had punched a hole through it with a fist of barbed wire, leaving the wound tattered. Torn between anger and grief, he fought for each ragged breath like it was his last. He had to keep moving, if only to fool himself that he could escape the reality, even as it affronted him undeniably:

He had lost him …

He felt dizzy, reeling from the shock of it, the comfort of pretence stripped away. He had fought too hard and too long to be defeated this way; in an unlikely turn of events that none had foresaw. His ears welcomed him to a soundless world, because Nick had been his music. There were no words apt enough to describe the extent of his devastation. No sense imbued in the myriad of emotions which played him as effortlessly as Figgero.

He did not see the embossed door ricochet off the panelled walls, quailing in forceful wake. Did not even feel his hands push it, nor the force of body he must have extolled. Had he behaved in such a flagrant manner last year, he would have called to him the attention of Dalton Academy's entire student population, but nowadays it seemed that somebody was always raging about something, and the effect was rather diminished.

Students were beginning to file out of their rooms now and make their way down to the canteen in waves of idle talk. Their sheer volume oppressing his hostile mood, hiding his powerful turmoil in its bulk. A few, however, stopped him with concerned questions:

"Hey – Jeff! What's wrong?"

"You alright, dude?"

"Whose upset you?"

And to each, he replied with one undifferentiated assurance;

"I'm fine," barely considering the words he was saying. And he smiled so that his cheeks ached with the effort of sustaining it against their will.

He repeated those two syllables so numerously it seemed, that had he been a gullible person, he probably would have believe himself, resigned his distress, and joined them in breakfast. But as it was, neither party were convinced.

He absconded to a disused office, one of only three which locked from the inside. It had been found by Nick and himself in Freshman year, during an obscure and certainly disallowed game of hide and seek between a group of overexcited peers who were revelling in the freedom of spending their first half term away from home.

He just needed time to think, away from banal routine … He just needed Nick.

Jeff was too agitated to sit, and so he paced; aggrieved, until the stretch of floor he fastidiously traversed, grew fraction by fraction, more polished than the rest, beneath his feet. Sitting down meant he would have to confront what had happened, and he didn't think he could do that.

He wished he could cry, until every tear ran dry, attain a state of apathy and rebuild their friendship from there, but tears belong to a less advanced spectrum of grief, one which did not know betrayal, and so he found them inaccessible.

The pains of one witness unified with a second benefactor, marking everything else meaningless. An impersonal misery, which obscured the finer details of itself.

Nick had changed since Sebastian's arrival, and, though it pained Jeff each time to admit it, not for the better. Everything from his mannerisms to the way he styled his hair had suffered an overhaul to better represent carbon copies of their rising star.

At first, Jeff had even found it mildly amusing; that Nick was suddenly so infatuated with this new suave image, when Jeff knew and loved him for the amazing idiot he had always been. But then, when they showed little indication of reappearance, Jeff began to miss those wayward locks; the way they fell into his eyes – and by extension, the boy who wore them.

Almost overnight, Nick grew serious and reckless as one. He began to ditch classes, turned up late if he even turned up at all, and refused point blank to turn in assignments; homework being one venture too extreme. He also became generally unpleasant to be around, having in reserve, or so it seemed, a smart comment for every occasion, which he was not reserved about sharing: loudly and obnoxiously. It was like watching a mini Sebastian-in-training, only without the charm and criminality. A dog barking at its own reflection in the river.

Despite his frustration, loyalty was something integral to Jeff. Each day he had waited patiently for Nick outside of room 109, enduring in loose union the latter's daily sessions of detention. He had persistently and practically wrote Nick's own assignments _for_ him, when Nick himself refused even so much as to look at them. During those trying periods, Jeff had at least forced his friend to act as scribe for the secondary thoughts – with limited results – because he would ensure that Nick do _something_, even if he was unwilling to extol his own.

And though the process was liable to end in combustion, he had refused to relent, because once the novelty was over, it would be Nick, not Sebastian, who had to pick up the pieces and rebuild his own wanton destruction, and Jeff would minimise the collateral, even if he could do nothing else.

When he had asked Nick; 'why,' a simple clarification for reason, which should have been forthwith, Nick could never seem to offer him an answer any more enlightening than; 'because'.

Jeff knew why, but he wanted to hear Nick say it. Because Sebastian exuded an air of charisma that made people stand up and listen. Because his presence alone, demanded the attention of any congregation. Because he embodied leadership, impression, mystery, charm … all those things that Nick, feeling lost in the crowd after a fourth consecutive solo defeat, coveted. Those desires which Sebastian then exploited to his will.

In those difficult weeks, Nick also became consumed by concerns of what people thought about him: everything he did, he did for laughs. And while he and Sebastian grew closer day by day, until they were all but indistinguishable from one another, Nick only pushed Jeff further away. He was forced to watch everything he had loved about Nick being desecrated from the inside out, until his best friend was barely recognisable.

But Jeff had not been prepared to surrender. He continued without respite to appeal to Nick's better nature; that integral part of him which, for the moment, was being overshadowed by reckless and ridiculous notions. Sometimes, Jeff was even convinced he had succeeded in getting through to him, for Nick's actions would waver and become subdued for a day or two – before Sebastian reasserted his dominion, and the balance was over-thrown. Other times, however, he wondered why he even bothered, when the situation was clearly hopeless.

Most days, he could fool himself into believing that piece by piece he was winning Nick back, when really, inch by inch he was losing him. But without risking open confrontation, there was only so much he could do, for to challenge Nick directly _was_ to lose him, and if Jeff deserted him, who then would be there to stand upon the brink and pull him back when all of this was over?

Everything else Jeff could take, could grit his teeth and weather if he had to. But when the way they interacted with each other changed, with no foreseeable reverse, that marked a liberty too far. He could not pretend otherwise that that had hurt, and the poison ran deep.

Nick barely looked at him, and even when he did, it was with something of dissatisfaction, that made even Jeff second guess himself. They saw each other only in passing, for Nick seemed always to have some other engagements, which severely limited the time they spent together, even as room-mates, and if Jeff didn't know any better, he would have sworn that Nick was avoiding him. They spoke little and the silence was distended with disquiet meaning – stopped watching movies together, curled up on a makeshift mattress in the centre of the floor, stopped passing notes in class, debating which teachers would triumph in hypothetical situations of varying humour, and instead sat like effigy's of stoic silence. And, when Jeff had laid his head upon Nick's shoulder; pounding with residual tension from the unceasing effort of keeping his insistently wayward friend on the straight and narrow, seeking only the smallest modicum of comfort, Nick had shrugged away from the contact, as if it were something unbecoming.

Then, in the wake of last nights senseless violence, they had clung to one another instinctively, foregoing the trials of the past few months, unified, brought together by their concern for a fellow and transformed. For one nights reprieve, Jeff had bore witness to the triumphant return of the very Nick he had thought long lost, albeit, one exceedingly troubled.. Though he knew it was folly, Jeff had began to hope. Now, not even twelve hours later, and his perfect representation lay once again in ruins. How was that fair?

From the depths of his pocket, his phone began to ring. With fumbling movements he extracted it and read, redundantly, the caller ID. _Nick_.

With the influx of moisture blinding him, he pushed the phone away from his person, across the length of the desk where he had finally alighted He couldn't face talking to him, not yet, and he knew that even if Nick didn't relish that, he would at least respect it.

It ceased after just five rings: merely testing the waters.

Nick's reaction the previous night now adopted new and tarnished connotations, his confrontation with Sebastian especially significant, full of loaded words. The anger with which he had lashed out, had in truth, a more inward directive. It was the culmination of shame, betrayal and bitter self-loathing: a strike against himself as much as against Sebastian.

Jeff didn't know what to think any more. He couldn't find it within himself to be angry, because everything just _hurt_ too much. It was a stray disappointment which afflicted him most prevalently, made worse for its fortitude, for even the most flagrant passions diminished and had their end; consumed by their own energy, but this, this would endure. It was too much to forgive, too great to forget … But it was _Nick_ …

~ * … * ~

Nick arrived in Biology fifteen minutes late, not even trying for discretion.

"Looks like we'll be spending time together _again_, Mr Duval," Mr. Barns' apathetic voice called tiresomely from the front. He didn't even so much as glance up from the current stack of papers he was marking. This small exchange had become somewhat of a ritual, and one that no longer necessitated active participation.

A few heads turned to regard Nick with expectant anticipation, and the room as a whole adopted an air of nervous agitation, waiting with bated breath for the deliverance of some choice witty remark which never came.

Instead, Nick simply grew uncomfortable beneath their scrutiny, forcibly aware that his eyes remained still too swollen, his appearance too dishevelled and his demeanour too morose to not excite whispers.

_This time_, his tardiness had not been intentional. It had taken all the strength of will he possessed to drag himself – even a quarter of an hour late – to class, when all he wanted to do was hide away from the world and wallow extensively in his own self exacted misery and shame. Seeing Jeff, he knew, would hurt far too much, even if it was no less than he deserved.

But Nick was already too far behind – thanks to his own foolishness, he was practically flunking every class – and that knowledge meant that hiding away wasn't an option. Maybe it was too little, and came too late, but in one brilliant flash of red, he had seen the error of his ways, thought there was no doubt about it, he had taken the difficult road to revelation.

So, for the first time that semester, he shunned pretentiousness and simply answered with procedural deference:

"Yes, sir." Taking his seat.

He concentrated then, harder than he had done in a long while; endeavouring to distract himself, to prevent his person from being swallowed whole by the pain, but the conviction of a distraction can sometimes be a distraction in itself. And, before long, he found that he was actually concentrating upon the task of concentrating rather than the material being delivered – as was his aim – little of which he understood anyway. His notes befittingly reflected the disjointed quality of his mind – useless even for the effort.

Such was the intensity of his focus that it was a half hours theory and one failed practical later before Nick even realized that Sebastian was not in attendance.

He would have hoped that Sebastian had developed shame, or at least, had a jaw discoloured enough to make him suitably adverse to emerging, but where the head Warbler was concerned, he just wasn't that optimistic. In truth, his absence rung more sinister than humbled.

Nick's own hand hurt like hell, which would accordingly excuse his near illegible writing, and though it's colourful appearance drew the attention of everyone within a twelve seat radius (and would undoubtedly continue throughout the day, to fuel the wild aspersions of all those not in the Warblers, and party to what had occurred between its members) the victory was still worth the cost.

He was called upon for an answer and he didn't have it. Mr. Barns knew he didn't. Rather than stutter through the threads of fictitious knowledge, he simply admitted his ignorance, cheeks flushing momentarily with embarrassment. He guessed he deserved that, he had been kind of a jerk. But in that moment, he made a pact with himself; the next time, he _would_ know.

Briefly, he thought of Kurt and Blaine, in the full acknowledgement of his wrong-doing. And for hurting them, he hated himself; loathed so passionately that it was a knife pushing between his ribs, seeking to puncture his heart in reimbursement.

If only he had kept his mouth shut! He may not have thrown the slushie, but he had done something much worse; gave the idea inception, and there was no denying; this was entirely and irrevocably, his fault. That residual guilt may have been a less acute agony than what seeing Jeff's betrayal and disappointment had cost him, but that did not mean that it was any less potent.

Jeff …

He counted down the minutes until time would force them to confront each other, struggling to piece together anything close to composure. Anything thereafter would be like another twist of the shaft, whether Jeff ignored him or saw fit to shout until he was hoarse, it would all just hurt the same. His heart, he knew, would compel him to comfort the amazing boy, to reach out and take his hand, whisper everything was okay, whose sorrow worked upon him with more finality than death. But his head would caution him, imposing responsibility, repugnance and repentance. He hated to see Jeff upset, how ironic then, that he was the cause.

The phone had rung five times; Jeff always answered on the second. That was evidence enough that he didn't want to talk, or at least, not yet. Nick accepted that. He would bare his retribution without complaint, if only it certified that one day, he would get him back. This was him making amends; starting again.

He left biology with an assignment he didn't know how to do.

Everything felt strange, like its familiarity had been lost, nothing _had_ changed, but yet, everything was different. If felt like he had been walking around with his eyes closed for eight weeks, existing in some parallel reality he had come to regard as home.

Briefly, he considered that people would think his change of heart a temporary fixture, a failing of nerve in the absence of Sebastian. The thought irritated him – he had been associated with Sebastian for far too long already.

Nick's first assumption had been correct. When he walked into English – actually _on time_, and wouldn't that cause a stir among the faculty – he found Jeff had relocated to the empty seat beside Ian in the second row. Ian appeared bemused by the abrupt company, never having had an extended exchange with the blonde Warbler.

He bore no qualms in admitting that that hurt, but if Jeff needed space, then he would have it.

Jeff kept his eyes determinedly averted as Nick passed, but even then, the latter perceived the slight tremble in his lips, which meant he was fighting back violent emotion. Nick held back tears of his own, completely heart-broken. The last thing either of them needed was to draw more attention to their current predicament, when rumours were probably already rife.

Nick took his usual seat at the back, feeling all the encumbrance of loneliness. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to make what was wrong, right. He couldn't change the past, as much as he would have given anything to, and there was only so many ways any one person could say sorry. It was all up to Jeff, and Nick held out for hope, it being the only thing he had left, even if forgiveness was more then he deserved.

The presence of the other was a discomfort for them both, half because the nature of their confrontation made it difficult for them to co-exist in the same room, without rubbing salt into the already agonising wound of memory, and half because the silence between them contravened some integral part of their beings, waxing unnatural.

They stole glances when they thought the other wasn't looking, though granted Nick had the on high advantage, and did so with greater ease. Glances full of accusation, pain, confusion, disappointment and need. Glances full of regret, sadness, guilt and the compulsion to console.

They each ran through scenarios in their minds as if imagination was going out of style. All those things which had been said, and all those things they wished they would have. Until it all became too much for one to bare.

Half an hour after the lesson had began, Jeff asked to be excused, claiming he felt sick. No-one would willingly contest that assertion given his current pallid appearance.

Nick watched him go, feeling, if such a feat was possible, even worse than before.

It is invariably true that at some point in your life, someone will hurt you, whether by actions and words made against you with intent, or by narrow-minded ignorance and folly, whose impulses bare far-reaching consequences. But when that somebody was your closest friend, the first person you found the confidence to place your faith in after loosing it to so-called humanity, then that injury was not one taken lightly. Already reeling with the shock of what had came to pass the previous night, the world subsequently seemed to look on even more unkindly, even more uncivilized.

By lunchtime, things had only continued to deteriorate, and if the saying; 'it has to get worse before it gets better,' wrung true then maybe he could take heart from the fact that surely, there couldn't be that far left to fall.

Jeff had failed to show for their next class together, and that concurrently concerned and devastated Nick more than he cared to admit, because, exceptional circumstances or not, Jeff would not normally skip out on school: he was too much of a swot. So that meant, either he was actually sick, or he was avoiding Nick at all costs. And neither one of those eventualities were particularly preferable.

His mood was only further soured when, sitting alone in the canteen, forcing down a meal circumstances had marked unappetising, he spied Sebastian; as undeterred as ever. Nick was sorely disappointed and a little indignant to note that not even the merest shadow of a bruise blemished his jaw in retribution testament.

He swore colourfully, causing several innocent bystanders to look on with disapproval. He had thrown every ounce of strength he possessed into that punch for goodness sake, and it was no meagre stock.

The only modicum of comfort he could draw in refund was found in the ridgidness of Sebastian's expression, and the tightness surrounding his eyes, which, even if _appearance_ didn't betray it, boasted pain. Good. Nick hoped it hurt with all the acuteness of a flame.

Sebastian's gaze found him, and to say that it was gloating was like calling a tiger a house-cat. Nick's defection, for all it's moral upstanding, did not matter, because Sebastian was still on top.

Nick threw away the remainder of his lunch uneaten, because a smug Sebastian was enough to put anyone off food indefinitely.

Exiting the canteen, Nick identified Trent threading through the crowd, and before Nick had adequately committed himself to feigning sensory impairment, the sassy Warbler called his name in salutation, and he had whirled round in answer; a deeply rooted response. A single glance told Trent all he needed to know.

~ * … * ~

For the latter half of second period, and the whole of third, Jeff had taken sanctuary in the library – easily Dalton's finest attribute. Given its sheer breadth and prolific alcoves and recesses, one could lose themselves in there for hours; alone in the physical sense, and never more surrounded in the semantic. For every trial and tribulation of life, people found here words of comfort. It was his retreat, his sacred place, his secret in plain sight.

Currently he sat curled up on a chaise, which fronted a window overlooking the grounds, his favourite spot. And on his lap, he nursed a rather worn copy of; _The Fellowship Of The Ring_, feeling for the first time since he had come to Dalton, thoroughly miserable.

He had tried, but he just couldn't do it. Seeing Nick's pain and self-torture, even in the just-served wake of noisome wrong-doing, was almost as bad as living his own hurt twice over. Everything echoed with confusion and frustration, and both were contesting for dominance.

He _was_ angry, was upset, was disappointed … but he was also, possibly against caution, sympathetic. What that perfidious action must have cost Nick to perform was incomprehensible; what it was still doing to him was evident.

It had been obvious from the start that Sebastian was manipulating Nick – just as he played everyone else unfortunate enough to fall for his charms, to his own advantage. Not that the latter would have listened to the implore of reason even if Jeff had been bold enough to offer it – so, therefore, wasn't it possible that Nick's uncharacteristic dissoluteness was simply a result of Sebastian's influence? More than that, wasn't it probable? Therefore, did he deserve to be punished for something he had been more than likely coerced into doing? Did a lack of responsibility negate the action? Was there any point in indulgent hypothetical but to build up hope to be shattered.

Love and friendship were a blindness and deficit, as much as they were coveted, as much as they were strength. We would forgive the reciprocal of either anything, a liberty not even the right thinking man in the jury box would extend indiscriminately. So, even as Jeff's devastation burned bright, it resolved into hope, resolved into absolution.

He knew he was making excuses, but he just _couldn't_ believe it – that his Nick was capable of something so underhand. It contravened everything he knew about the brunette, so maybe it _wasn't_ true. But no matter which way he looked at it, Nick had still confessed, and there was no escaping the fallout.

He didn't want to feel like this; alone, wretched, like someone had cut off his right arm and neglected to inform him of the difficulties of life without it. He just wanted Nick back, for things to be again as they once were, before Sebastian came. But they were empty wishes, all of them, because to forgive Nick, no matter how his heart yearned, felt like a betrayal to Kurt and Blaine, and Jeff was loyal to a fault.

Kurt's silence was enduring. No matter how frequently or seldom Jeff checked his phone there was never an answer. And that resolute silence only made him feel ever more agitated the longer it persisted. Surely by now they would know whether something was wrong with Blaine or not? Jeff had played no part in what had happened, so why didn't he deserve the right to know whether his friend was okay?

He had just reached the part concerning Elrond's council, and as he read, he considered the benefits of spearheading a similar effort here at Dalton, to answer the threat of arrogance as oppose to Mordor. He certainly wouldn't contest a movement to throw Sebastian head first into Mount Doom.

Satisfying thoughts aside, his attention was recalled to reality as footsteps approached and ceased before him. He looked up: Trent.

"What are you doing here?" He asked with mild confusion, voice rough from disuse, frowning slightly.

He did not possess the energy for pretence, and Trent deserved better than that anyway. Besides, it wasn't a particularly difficult feat to work out that he and Nick had suffered a discord, the very fact that they were not together in that moment was evidence enough. Being that as it may, however, Jeff was suspicious of Trent's motives, though he was sure they admirable nonetheless.

"Would you believe it if I told that I come here everyday?" Trent asked with an air of conspiratorialism.

"No." The answer was flat.

"Then you're an excellent judge of character and I commend you." Trent moved to take a seat on Jeff's left.

"Catch," and he tossed Jeff a freshly baked cookie; white chocolate chip. The residual warmth of which still clouded the sealing cellophane.

"Not allowed to eat in here," Jeff protested with weak feeling. He had skipped breakfast, and the biscuit smelt _so_ good. His stomach rumbled traitorously in response and he knew the argument was lost. Trent grinned.

"I wont tell if you wont," he promised, before producing one of his own.

They ate in silence, stealing glances down the aisle, ready to whip away their stolen confectioneries at the slightest indication of the eagle-eyed librarian, their vantage point allowing them an unobstructed view of the front desk.

When Trent did not presume to reinstate the conversation, Jeff asked him with reluctance, finding it strangely difficult to wrap his tongue around the name:

"Did Nick ask you to come and find me?"

He looked up from underneath his lashes timidly, unsure of whether that thought constituted an irritation or endearment. Maybe Trent was an acting go-between?

"No." Trent's expression was completely earnest, and somehow, Jeff believed him. "I saw him just now though – he had a face like a wet weekend. Kind of like yours actually." He fixed Jeff with a knowing gaze;

"What's going on, huh? You two are usually inseparable …"

Jeff stared down at the floor, suddenly inordinately interested in the characteristic swirling patterns, which blurred together or became distinct depending upon ones focus, biting his lip nervously. He trusted Trent, that wasn't the issue, but he just didn't know if he could hold his composure in regaling, and he wasn't prepared to go to pieces in public, when it would only succeed in making things worse.

A problem shared may have been a problem halved, but it was also a problem doubled, the two independent pieces chafing against one another, and that was where it got messy; a confusion of secondary opinion.

"Hey, if I'm being too nosey, don't hesitate to tell me to mind my own business," Trent prompted, when the silence endured, holing up his hands to suggest he would not be offended. What could possibly have happened to come between two such steadfast friends?

"No, its – you're not, erm …" Jeff spoke as if from a great distance, as if he had locked all essential parts of his being away for the purposes of confession, leaving behind only those physical elements necessary to transform the effort into sound. His eyes saw nothing but the haunted images of memory.

"It – It was Nick's idea … to slushie Kurt, I mean … and he was involved, in the – in the attack."  
>"What?"<p>

There existed no superior words potent enough to adequately surmise his sentiments of shock.

"Yeah. I dunno … he told me this morning. I knew there was something bothering him, but not … not _this_." Jeff shook his head absently, and for all the action communicated a sense of disbelief, it seemed a movement primarily designed simply to affirm that the appendage still indeed rested upon his shoulders. For everything else seemed adverse.

Trent found credulity a little unwilling also. So this was the dark secret that had so tortured Nick the previous evening? The brunette indeed had had a right to look nauseated, because this was _bad_. Had his fight with Sebastian then, been merely a deflection technique; a pantomime to distract away from the guilt of his own reprehensible action? And you thought you knew a person …

He looked at Jeff who appeared so small before him – and that in itself was no mean feat – so defeated, so timid, as if he had reverted back to those initial days at Dalton, which marked him out as the quiet, introverted boy, encumbered by the weight of oppression – or at least, was part way there. It was a heart-breaking sight.

He knew Nick meant more to Jeff than just a friend, more than a brother. He had seen the way they looked at each other – the very way he wished someone would look at him, but for whatever reason, the two appeared wilfully oblivious to the very evidence. But even is nothing else was clear, how much they needed and depended upon each other, at least, was.

He gently laid a hand upon Jeff's shoulder, words, for only the second time in his life failing him. What could he possibly say anyway? There had to be some great speech, maybe even tucked away in one of the vast volumes which surrounded them, that when spoken would absolve everything, but he wasn't that well read, and each kept their secrets possessively concealed, removed from him, forcing him to stumble blind.

He _would_ get to the bottom of this, because it didn't make any sense, and if last night had taught him anything it was that, if the puzzle was erroneous when it should have been comprehensive, then it meant you did not have all the necessary elements at your disposal.

"He said – that no-one was supposed to get hurt … It was just meant to be a prank, and that, he didn't know Sebastian was planning to put anything in the slushie," Jeff said with quiet desperation, as if the words were a lifeline, to which he was clinging without restraint, though they were merely a repetition.

"Do you believe him?" Trent asked in a forced neutral tone.

Jeff looked at him fully for the first time, eyes brimming with sincerity; a testament Trent didn't honestly believe Nick deserved at that point.

"Yes." And then, in the next breath:

"But it doesn't change anything, does it? Blaine still got hurt."

Trent perceived his conflict of loyalties instantly; an over-complication added to an already sensitive issue. He had no impart of wisdom to offer, only a compulsive need to console, to at least somewhat lighten the burden Jeff had taken it upon himself to bare, because to see the blonde Warbler so dispirited marked a worldly dishonour. When Jeff asked whether it changed anything, he was really asking.

He could answer with either conviction or kindness. He chose kindness.

"Maybe it does. What Nick did was wrong and cruel, and I wouldn't have thought him capable of it in a million years … but I guess we have to give him some credit; it was brave of him to come clean. To tell the truth even when he risked losing you because of it. Most people would have just carried on living the lie, praying they never got found out. If you want to put a value on friendship then there it is, there aren't many people who would do the same.

"Don't get me wrong, I've seen the way he's been acting lately – a regular chip off the ol' Sebastian block, and it was an eyesore to begin with. He's been reckless, obnoxious and frankly _unpleasant_ to be around, that being the better days. But, maybe this means he's finally seen sense; maybe this is his way of making amends; by coming clean. No-body's perfect, I guess, and we've all done things we're not proud of, thought admittedly, I've never nearly blinded someone." The last part was said a little too sourly for preaching redemption.

He didn't honestly believe the words, but Jeff needed to hear them, and that was all that mattered in the moment. He needed to know that his faith found shelter in a vessel outside his own, even if the light was nothing more than a reflection, because otherwise, it seemed but an empty and hollow ideal.

Lying didn't come natural, least of all to a friend, but what was the alternative? He would not be the one to cause Jeff even greater anguish. Besides, he would have it out with Nick sooner or later, some time when Jeff wasn't around to hear, and he wouldn't be holding back for the sake of the brunette's feelings. There was more than one innocent party in this entire sordid affair.

"But, I can't forgive him." The sound was small, barely even audible, "and I can't talk to him … not yet."

Life has a peculiar habit of imposing coincidence upon unwilling parties, and in this instant, it did not disappoint. For, no sooner had Jeff spoken those words, than Nick wandered defeatedly into the library. They could see him from their vantage point, even if he couldn't see them in return.

Immediately, Jeff blanched, and began gathering up his belongings with careless abandon and evident preoccupation, unable to remain even in the same vicinity. But was his aversion due to the abhorrence of Nick's actions, and therefore, on principle, or more due to the fact that it almost constituted physical torture to linger in the same room as Nick and yet not speak to him? A distinction more blurred had never existed.

"Jeff, wait …" but he was already gone.

Trent groaned. Seriously, these days their lives owned more drama than 90201. And TV series glamorised it inordinately.

~ * … * ~

Nick scanned each aisle as he passed: Jeff had to be in here somewhere. This was his retreat, his shelter when things got too real.

Or, perhaps he had seen Nick enter, and had left already, meaning the latter's search was futile. That thought hurt.

He didn't know what he had intended to say, if indeed, he had intended to say anything, but he just needed to make sure Jeff was okay, or as okay as the current circumstances would permit. Even a single glance, stolen around Shakespeare's complete works would have sufficed, but it seemed the world did not even owe him that much.

Surrendering, he sat dejectedly at one of the four empty communal tables, burring his head in his hands. Why did the worst days of your life seem to drag on forever? It was like some perversive irony.

He didn't even possess the resolve to look up as footsteps approached – they were not Jeff's and that was all he cared about – and their owner took a seat opposite.

"So …" Trent.

Nick didn't even waste the breath on asking from whence he had came, that tone was indication enough. So Jeff _had_ been here, and left upon his arrival. He sighed to keep from breaking.

"You know." It wasn't a question. Nick finally looked up with the movement of a world wearied man who had seen too many hardships. He couldn't find it in his heart to blame Jeff for taking Trent into his confidence; he knew how heavy the burden of truth was to bare alone. He could never find it in his heart to blame Jeff for anything.

"Have you _completely_ lost your mind? What were you thinking?"

Trent, contrary to his straight forward nature, had held back in Jeff's presence, pushing aside the passions of scorn and indignation with monumental effort, in order to offer some small modicum of comfort to the blonde who had appeared too fragile to weather the angry remarks of another, directed towards one for whom he was still seeking salvation. But no more. Trent was going to lay a few home truths on the line, and they would not make for favourable hearing.

"I think it's pretty obvious that I_ wasn't _thinking," said Nick flatly, as if emotion was a concept too painful to explore. "Otherwise I would never have been so stupid." He balled his hands into fists, ignoring the pain it cost him. He welcomed Trent's anger, anything else but his world of silence, because it forced him to confront head on, that which he would still otherwise endeavour to run from: the flaws of his character.

"You're a hypocrite, you know that? You lash out a Sebastian for something you were part of yourself. You talk about friendship, but yet you seem to have no problem turning against the people you would claim to care about when the moment suits you. You're selfish Nick, and you destroy everything good around you."

He was angry for himself, and angry upon Jeff's part also, both of which lent a potency to his speech which he did not necessarily feel. Caught in the heat of the moment, his words cut like slivers of ice.

"I know." The answer was defeated. He didn't even try to defend himself.

"Then do something about it!"

Their discourse attractied unwelcome glares from the library assistant, which were covertly hostile, and so they lowered their voices accordingly, at least having the good grace to look sufficiently admonished.

"Don't you think I've _tried_? Don't you think I've gone over those things again and again in my head? Don't you think that if I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat?" Despair turned to desperation, his eyes as wild as the sea caught in the throes of a storm.

"But then … why?"

"Because …" Nick hesitated for a fraction of a second before relenting any pride he had left intact, "because Sebastian got to me"

It was the first time he had admitted that truth aloud, the first time he had offered it as an excuse to in any way negate his own part in a forced situation, though, here in the seat of hero's, away from ambiguous speeches and twisted logic which would seem innovative, it waxed a weak one.

He hadn't told Jeff because he was ashamed, never wanting the blonde to think any less of him for being taken in by a silken tongue – as it turned out, in protecting himself in one respect, he had later effectively decimated Jeff's every favourable opinion of him anyway.

"Everything I did, it just – made me feel like a somebody for a while, instead of just a voice in the background. It was nice. Turns out though; it wasn't worth it. Not really." His tone was sour and his eyes shone with regret, no truer image of repentance had there ever been seen on the face of man. But Trent still remained indignant:

"So you got passed over one too many times for a solo; big deal! Jeff and I have never had one, and yet you don't see us throwing out weight around like some toddler denied his own way," Trent challenged.

In truth, he could sympathise, but as of yet, he wasn't prepared to, still too appalled.

It _was_ disparaging to be turned down again and again for solo's, to be piqued at the post every time, to be told that your best just wasn't good enough, to feel like your moment in the spotlight would never come to fruition while all those around you, it seemed, realized their dreams one by one, taking your share for their own. And under Sebastian's leadership, things were only made worse, because then it felt like everybody _had _to be heard, and it meant you were less than nothing it you were not. Being in the Warblers was meant to be fun; a unity of brothers, but it had not been that for a while.

"You asked me why I did it," Nick reminded him despondently, tracing his finger over the convoluted lines of the tables natural grain with slow, deliberate movements, "so I told you. I never said my reason was a good one."

"No. It's a _terrible_ one."

Trent groaned, even despite himself, the zeal of anger which coursed through his veins lending steel to his words was beginning to ebb away, diffused by the pitiful sight Nick presented, and left in its wake was a less combustible frustration. Clearly Nick regretted his actions, and if that much was true already, then what good would lecturing him achieve but to make the chastising party feel better? It was more compassion than Sebastian had shown at least.

"Okay, but I still don't understand _how_. Jeff was more than a little vague on the details –"

"Is he okay?" Nick latched onto the name as if it were a life preserver tossed out to the drowning man.

Trent raised an eyebrow, which roughly translated into a not unkind; '_what do you think?_' before elaborating:

"He's devastated; barely holding it together. He thinks he's lost you, and I'm not just talking about last night – it feels like you've been gone a while." The truth for all it's acclaimed virtue, was an ugly creature.

"I know," Nick chocked, coughing to hide a sob, persisting in tracing the natural patterns with ever more fervency. "It feels like I've been walking round in a dream." And then, looking at Trent, so that the full and earnest extent of his anguish was laid bare;

"I never meant to hurt him. I never meant to hurt anyone."

And suddenly, Trent believed him, and more than that, pitied him.

"I know … He still has faith in you, you know? Even despite all this. It's not too late to make things right."

Nick offered him a watery smile – which spoke more than words could supply; a chance of redemption – the first he had found the will to muster for what seemed like a life age.

Trent returned the gesture heavily. How did someone so usually optimistic succeed in looking so vulnerable? It was disconcerting to say the least.

"So, I'm guessing Jeff didn't give you too much opportunity to explain yourself then?" Trent assumed, trying not to sound too harsh in the abrupt reversion to topic.

Nick winced nonetheless and shook his head. Had the situations been reversed, would he have stuck around for an explanation? Probably not. Had honesty really been the best policy? Because so far, all it had seemed to provide was hurt.

"Do you want to try me instead?" Rhetorical.

He didn't, but he would, if only to ease the burden of his conscience, if only to soothe the aching of his heart into some semblance of submission. He sighed, this was not an explanation that he would relish.

"I guess it all started with Sebastian's phone-call to Blaine. He must have got it out of him that the New Directions were planning to do MJ at Regional's. I don't know, I wasn't really listening, Sebastian's conversations are full of innuendo's; it's really uncomfortable. When he got off the phone, he was agitated, but sort of, in an excited way. He said something about it contravening competitive spirit for them to do Michael at both their Sectionals _and_ Regionals. But, I don't know, he kind of spun it, made it sound like we were always intending to do Michael first, and they stole the idea.

"Then, he disappeared for a couple of hours. And the next thing we all know is that there is going to be a Jackson-off between us and New Directions, the winner securing the rights to perform MJ.

"We were all talking, and that's how it came about; Sebastian, Flint, Curtis and me, after Warbler practice. Laughing about ways we could gain the upper hand, stupid things, you know? Smoke screens, paint-balls and costumes. Things that were amazing in theory but would never really happen. But the idea of pranking them kind of stuck, I guess, and took on a life of its own. Sebastian's been pretty sour since he learned they beat us at last years Regionals by using original songs. But I just thought it was all hot air.

"I remembered what Kurt had told us: about how people got slushied at McKinley, and the irony was too much to resist. Most of their pranks were just cruel, while … while Sebastian said mine was clever. But it was just banter, completely hypothetical. I never realized it would go this far. It was never _supposed_ to.

"Then, before we enter the parking lot, Sebastian pulls me aside and says that in the last few bars Flint will hand me a paper bag, and all I have to do is pass it to Curtis, who in turn will pass it to Sebastian himself. It didn't make any sense, but yet I didn't think to question it. Whatever it held, I trusted Sebastian. Ha! Wasn't that a mistake?

"So, when Flint hands me it, I pass it on. Sebastian pulls out a slushie and – … the rest you know." Nick bowed his head in shame.

Meanwhile, Trent just stared at him aghast. An expression that could have been no more animated even if, after seventeen years of pretence, someone had revealed to him that chocolate was a fruit and budgerigars were really amphibious reptiles, and the descendants of dinosaurs to boot. Then, all at once he smiled, thought there was a vibrant edge of exasperation to it.

"You are an absolute imbecile and you drive me insane! I honestly can't decided whether I want to throttle you or hug you!"

"W – what?" Nick stammered in slow confusion. That wasn't exactly the response he had envisioned.

Trent waved his enquiry aside with the air of a man stood eagerly before discoveries gate, trying each of his keys systematically.

"So, you didn't know Sebastian was planning to slushie Kurt until he pulled it out of the bag? You didn't even know what you were handling?"

"Well, not actu – " Nick began uncertainly, frowning, before Trent cut him off kindly, if impatiently.

"You never intended to be part of their callus prank?"

"No, Kurt and Blaine are my frie –"

"And you defiantly didn't know that Sebastian put something dangerous in there?"

"No. Never."

Trent threw up his arms for revelational emphasis, before Nick countered;

"But it was _my_ idea."

He could not accept the mitigation, even as it was offered. Could not by rights, accept pardon, when, despite all those things Blaine had still gotten hurt, and he and Kurt both, still were left to pick up the pieces of something that should never have been shattered. If only he had kept his thoughts to himself. If only he had done a million and one things differently, then none of this would have ever happened.

"Yeah," Trent scoffed heartily, "because I'm sure Flint and Sebastian were so subdued during this debate. You said it yourself; their pranks were cruel. Even if you hadn't spoken up, they would have still done something underhand and you know it. And maybe Blaine would have wound up in the hospital, even more worse off."

Nick refused to meet his eye. But, he had believed …

Never had he wished so ardently that a conviction would be found erroneous, but now that a new perspective offered him a chance at redemption, he found himself hesitant. He clung to that guilt, that horrible responsibility as if it were an extension of himself, an element he was loath to relinquish. _Why?_

Encouragingly, Trent reached across the table and grasped hold of Nick's shoulder, grinning broadly, though there was something of sorrow in its constitution, as if Nick's resistance pained him. He squeezed it tightly for a second, as if to reinforce truths housing in reality.

"Let it go. _None _of this was your fault, okay? The only thing you're guilty of is trying to see the best in people, even when they don't deserve it. And being absolutely _abysmal_ at explaining yourself," Trent amended, raising an eyebrow, "seriously?" Nick shrugged resignedly, an embarrassed smile alighting upon his lips. Trent just shook his head, still in shock, before impressing with feeling: "So stop beating yourself up already. If you want to be angry at anyone, then be angry at Sebastian, because the blame for all of this rests at his door."

It took a few minutes for those words to make their mark, but eventually, Nick's shoulders sagged, as if they were abruptly relieved of a great encumbrance, and its removal left them weaker for the burden: adolescent again, stripped of a man's worries.

Only then, did it become startlingly and truly apparent just how much this entire affair had affected him; consumed him and devoured him, until he appeared colourless and hagged, temporarily old beyond his years. He seemed less than himself, in presence and in baring, and the black smudges beneath his eyes betrayed that the had not slept peacefully for a while. In short, he looked beaten. But even in apparent defeat, there was a spark which ignited, that bore him again to fortitude.

And even as Trent watched him, taking in these things without regiment, he questioned the perception of his own soul, for how could it ever lead him to doubt the integrity of Nick Duval? It was exactly as he had thought: there was more than one innocent party in their entire sordid affair, and some were still yet coming to light.

"But, Jeff …" And there was the self admonishment again.

Trent just shook his head, torn between laughter and exasperation. _Typical_. Having had his unfounded guilt absolved, Nick's first thought, of course, was for Jeff. He hoped that never changed.

But even without the charges Nick had branded upon himself, all of this remained a sticky situation, full of delicate feeling, and possibly destructive impulse. Jeff yearned to hear this truth, but yet, would he allow himself to listen?

"I'll talk to him," Trent promised, understanding immediately Nick's inclination and predicament, eager to reunite the two souls fate should never sunder. Right now, the truth spoken from the horses mouth would seem to be a lie.

Nick nodded, letting out a sigh of relief, thinking that he and Jeff both should really give Trent greater credit; he was a friend like few others. Then, he grinned without restraint, feeling for the first time in a long while, like himself again. And to traverse that so familiar, and so recently lost sight of territory was akin only to running gaily through the hills of Eden. He was at home in himself, and he had found it in being true, from then onwards he knew, Sebastian's sway over him was broken. With new hope kindled again in his heart, he began to believe that somehow, everything would turn out right.

"I owe you an apology," Trent spoke earnestly and without pride. "It was wrong of me to jump to conclusions. I should have made sure I had the whole story straight before flying off the handle with a bunch of wild accusations." And then, on a subdued and certainly more affectionate note;

"I didn't mean what I said. You're not selfish, and you certainly don't destroy everything good around you – you enhance it."

Nick just shrugged, grinning in acceptance of the extension. He would be fooling himself to say he would have reacted any differently, knowing what was at stake.

"You were just looking out for Jeff. How can I blame you for that when I would have done the same thing? For all you knew, I _was _behind it. I thought it was my fault too."

"You know, he never _really_ doubted you. Not for an instant. It's not so often you'll find a person who holds out so persistently on faith." Trent told him, head cocked to the side, all the better to survey Nick with. Nick smiled shyly.

Jeff would have remained faithful to the end, and even beyond, whether the judgement went ill or not, because friendship with him, once won, was never relented. Because anger was fleeting, and his friend a person so much greater than one foolish mistake, and not forever held to ransom of it. But his loyalties would have always been divided, and his heart would have always been torn, for in keeping one half, he was eternally estranging the other.

Nick knew this because for Jeff, he would have done the same. Nothing was forever, and the strength of their bond marked any discord fleeting.

It was only by a chance wandering, that in the radiance of proven innocence, Nick's eye's fell to look upon the floor, and more specifically the footwear of his fellow. There was a distinctive lack of polished leather and a corresponding preponderance of softened suede that seemed extremely out of place.

"Trent, are you wearing slippers?" Nick frowned.

"I am," he admitted without shame, lifting up the leg of his trousers so Nick could see them in all their glory. To the sassy Warbler's credit, they at least mimicked regulation footwear but for the fact they were slippers.

"Ever seen a blister the size of a golf ball? No? Then count your blessings, I won't give you a visual. These were the only things I could walk more than two steps in. Notice I didn't say comfortably." He tried to sound sour, but it just came out humorous.

Nick felt bad for him, he really did, because that sounded like it hurt, but he couldn't resist the jibe;

"Well you did walk nine miles in new -"

"_Don't_ even say it!" Trent looked momentarily mutinous, and shivered at the memory.

They left the library, walking side by side as equals of truth to rejoin the rest of the world.

Out of nowhere, Trent's hand came up and smacked Nick sharply upside the head, in a gesture that was completely unexpected.

"Ow! What was that for?" Nick scowled regarding the other Warbler with a side long glance. He ran his fingers across the abruptly tender spot. There may have been no violence behind the swipe but boy did it smart, the motion dishevelled his hair further, seeming now comparatively untameable omitting the liberal use of gel.

"Because between you and Jeff I swear I'm going prematurely grey!" Trent threw his hands up with passionate despair. "Don't ever do anything like this again!"

Nick preserved his humble silence. He had been warned.

~ * … * ~

Throughout the remainder of the day, things got both better and worse, though sentiments of improvement were subject to relative interpretation.

Wasn't it a convoluted irony that the lesson immediately proceeding lunch was one of only two that the four shared together; Maths. And the sum of trigonometry and dispute was laborious to say the least.

Nick graciously declined Trent's offer of company, impressing upon him to remain close by Jeff's side instead, while he opted for himself the furthest table at the back; raised above the others on a platform: all the better vantage for surveying the room at large.

If Sebastian was going to start something, then it's inception would be here and now, while the covert wounds of humiliation were still raw, and Nick didn't want Jeff or Trent to be caught in the crossfire. Enduringly ill at ease, he wished that they were in another classroom altogether, for he didn't put heroism past either of them.

For the first time, he realized that he had actually taken Jeff's warning to heart, and the revelation surprised him, for he felt now that he knew Sebastian's motives better in opposition than in camaraderie. Though, he reserved no concern for himself.

He resolved to tarry after the lesson ended, offering Sebastian an opportunity, if he was indeed so inclined, to confront him in the absence of any sensitive parties. No-one was ever going to get hurt because of him again.

The sense of relief which Nick felt when Jeff entered the room was indescribable, as if he had been waiting with bated breath for the return of hope. As if the earth had spun adversely on its axis, and Jeff's presence alone reversed the polarity, instilling reason again into chaos.

Just shy of being tardy, the blonde muttered an apology to Mrs. Sedden, who looked upon him kindly. But yet everything from his demeanour to his expression seemed aggrieved, uncertain, oppressed. And blinded by the realms of his own elation at Jeff's distant company, it was a few moments before Nick suitably remembered that Jeff still believed, as he had, not two hours ago; that the slushy incident had been almost exclusively Nick's fault. This mornings events felt like the escapades of a secondary persona tried on for size; lines read by an actor.

Respecting Nick's wishes, Trent immediately caught Jeff's attention, and motioned for him to take the empty seat beside. Jeff's smile was heartfelt, if brief, and he moved to comply with a palpable relief; as if in his mind, he had built this moment up to be so much worse than what truth found it. He did not appear to notice Nick, who had abdicated their usual seating for a loftier roost, though his eyes did linger momentarily upon the space they would have otherwise occupied, and Nick thought he perceived regret in that gaze, before they were turned resolutely to the front.

In all probability, it had been something close to three hours since Nick had last seen Jeff, yet it felt like a month. And during that time, it seemed like a weight had grown upon his heart, which only became more burdensome the longer they were apart. At first he had justified it as the affective encumber of their discord, found physical release, but now, he was not so sure, it felt more … wholesome than that.

To hold Jeff in his sights waxed a comfort and indulgence now that he was released from guilt. To know that he was okay, relatively speaking, with the obvious soon to be resolved, that he was still there; the beacon of hope and trust, whose light could be diminished but never defeated.

Words themselves could not accurately convey just how much he meant to Nick – the world itself was worthless in his eye compared. When he laughed, it seemed the summer should be evermore. When he cried, that six billion people should cast down their responsibilities in tributary grief. When he sang, that the world had existed in silence before, anticipating the dawn of sound. And when he danced, that the very earth should surge in appreciation. Jeff was his everything.

The lesson commenced, and there was no sign of Sebastian. What that signified was elusive, but certainly no encouragement.

Trent and Jeff spoke intermittently, sometimes indicating an equation upon the page before them, sometimes discussing with abandon, issues which in no way contributed to the degree identification of an angle. Nick watched them with a sort of reserved satisfaction and sadness, he had forgotten how long it had been since he had last seen Jeff looking so at ease.

Though Nick followed the theory with strict attention, and would have even gone so far as to say, understood the practice, he was denied his one golden opportunity to absolve some of his now less than favourable reputation, by his abused hand, which had now seized up unforgivingly in the meagre period of disuse. Oh he gave up!

The profit was not worth the pain, but, determined like never before, he slipped the pencil into his left hand and laboured on as best he could. Ignoring the fact that the scrawl resembled that of a careless four year old armed with a board marker, then the endeavour was a success. He hoped at least he would score points for trying – it was more than he had done in a while.

Half an hour into the lesson and still no whisper of Sebastian abounded. Nick had only just managed to convince himself that the self-important Warbler was not going to grace them with his presence, when the door opened to admit him.

Well, it was probably a good thing that he was no betting man then, Nick thought, shifting uneasily.

Sebastian converged upon Mrs. Sedden's desk, taking her into his confidence for a moment, before she nodded sympathetically and motioned for him to take a seat, free of penalization.

He did not have to search for Nick in the sea of faces, he already knew where to look, and as he passed the penultimate desk of the third row, he levelled a glare at him, grinning sinisterly.

Nick swallowed convulsively. If that look did not portend trouble then he did not know what did. Somehow, his courage was harder to scrape together in the familiar setting of home, lacking the tang of passionate injustice.

They sat, like four oppositional compass points, rank with disharmony.

Jeff and Trent grew uneasy as one, Sebastian's presence was a threat to peace itself in their minds. They had missed the exchange, but that didn't mean they were ignorant of it; imagination was the fuel of life.

Nick could feel their tangent glances upon him, almost boring in their intensity, but he dared not return them, for that which was given in reassurance, could come back and haunt him in encouragement. This was his fight, no-one else needed to be involved and he would not suffer them to be …

The lesson continued unabated, unconcerned with the humanitarian discord staffed by four of its number.

As the bell rang, and everyone body else hastened to their last lesson of the day, Nick made a show of meticulously completing his last equation, until the classroom emptied of all but four stragglers beside himself.

Trent sidled over to him, and he did a double take, cursing himself passionately for not having paid closer attention to who lingered in the room beside Sebastian and him. It seemed there had been one too many extraneous variables for his plan to be executed seamlessly, and there was no chance to back down now. He quickly tried to work out a strategy, but found his cunning unwilling.

Trent looked slightly guilty as he spoke, biting his lip;

"Jeff's going to room with me tonight. He asked, and I couldn't exactly say no, go sleep in the hall. Sorry." He gave Nick an apologetic look, "but it gives me the perfect opportunity to talk to him," he offered up in compromise

Nick nodded resignedly distracted, knowing it was for the best but hating it anyway. There was a certain amount of helplessness involved in having someone else fight your corner, and he didn't relish the lack of control it awarded him over his own destiny, at a time which was so pivotal. A mouth to speak your truth with different words. He trusted Trent, but nevertheless, it was no substitute for telling Jeff himself.

Under the oppression of his own regret and self-loathing, he had found Jeff's anguish unbearable to observe. But in liberty, it was made so much worse.

And then, Sebastian was upon them – hawk in the sights of prey. Undiminished and as insufferable as ever.

"What do you want?" Nick demanded, before the taller Warbler seized the opportunity to speak. Beside him, Trent folded his arms resolutely, demonstrating that neither of them had any patience for games.

"It's not what _I_ want, but what you can do for me," he said with unriled simplicity, which aggravated the situation more effectively than reciprocal hostility.

"Why would we want to do anything for you?" Nick scoffed with derision.

Sebastian moved towards them, his superior height as threatening as his stance; his voice acid smooth and loaded:

"Because it seem to me like you've forgotten who's actually in charge here, and that's a dangerous thing to forget. It can make you powerful enemies, but luckily, I'm not that petty." He smiled, an expression as reassuring as the desert was wet.

Nick and Trent exchanged significant glances. Even if he wasn't that petty, he was certainly that spiteful. They remained silent; waiting, and Sebastian complied, after building sufficient tension.

"What? Did you think you would just undermine my authority and get away with it? Decide suddenly that everything I've given you wasn't worth it?" He smiled brutally, "Those solo's came at a price Nick, and the payments come due."

Nick swallowed heavily. Sebastian was one boy, just three weeks Nick's senior. What made him so malicious? What made him so intimidating?

"What do you want?" Nick repeated again, harshly, bolstered by the fact that his voice neither quailed nor betrayed his prevalent unease.

"To help you." No stranger words had ever been spoken by that cruel mouth.

"Why?" Trent demanded, immediately suspicious.

"Because contrary to popular belief, I'm a reasonable guy." Nick and Trent snorted derisively as one, they had seen no evidence of that. "And I'm willing to overlook your insubordination, and offer you a compromise. One which should suit all three of us."

Nick didn't trust anything that would benefit Sebastian in the same bracket as Trent and himself, but he also was not prepared to spend the rest of his school career continually looking over his shoulder, fretting about when and where and how Sebastian would exact the retribution he had decided was his right to take. He seemed like the sort of guy who would foster grudges for a lifetime.

So begrudgingly and against his better judgement, he listened, knowing even before the words were spoken that he was not going to like what he heard.

"In exchange for your co-operation and compliance, I'll forget the entire affair. You do what I say, when I say it and every-bodies happy. The Warblers get back on track, and we take Nationals: win win." He sold it like a pro, but it was an unrighteous campaign.

"So, what?" Trent scoffed, "we become like laps dogs, to be ordered around at will? No thanks, find someone else."

"Yeah," Nick echoed boldly, "you'll have to kick us out first, and good luck winning Nationals without us."

They were inspiring sentiments, but Sebastian didn't appear in the least dissuaded. On the contrary, he seemed triumphant, smug even – as if he kept in reserve, one more ace in the hole, and he was simply biding his time to reveal it, waiting for the most advantageous moment, which would be soon in the coming.

Nick and Trent despaired, because in a war of words, no-one could best him. His composure was too insensitive, too impenetrable, and to him, everything was a game, whose triumphant victor was always its instigator; himself.

"You _really_ think that you're not that easily replaced? He shook his head as if the notion was an epiphany to him.

"So, do it then," Nick challenged recklessly, at a loss for any other come back, and refusing to be beaten, while Trent nodded his conviction beside.

"No. That would be too easy." _Heaven forbid_, thought Trent sourly, rolling his eyes. "I thought you might be resistant, so I'll sweeten the barter. How about this: do what I say, or else, _Jeff_ will be kicked out in your stead." He smiled serenely.

"WHAT? He has nothing to do with this!" cried Trent outraged.

"Do you seriously want me to punch you again? Your issue's with me. Don't you _dare_ take it out on him.!" Nick shouted fiercely. His protectiveness of Jeff forcefully aroused.

Sebastian offered him a peculiar look, as if perceiving something for the first time, before his gaze slipped doubtfully to regard Nick's abused knuckles.

"Nice bruises," he remarked conversationally, smirking.

"Nice concealer," Nick returned smugly, Sebastian's sense of superiority momentarily dissuaded.

For, in such close proximity as they were, Nick could see it easily; worn thin, clumped and grainy with prolonged use, and through its coverage was visible the mottled purple, blue, green and yellow of subcutaneous bleeding.

The satisfaction that perception elicited was was not communicational to words – his strike against Sebastian had not been ineffective after all, Sebastian had just been too proud, or too afraid to show that he had been matched. What he could not conceal, however, was the way in which that deep ache caused him to mis-sound certain phonetics (even if it was to an infinitesimal degree), nor how it transformed what would have been a smirk, into a grimace.

"So, what do you say?" Sebastian prompted after a moment, supremacy restored. Even if his composure was temporarily distracted, he still had the upper hand in their debate, and knew it.

Nick didn't say anything, torn once again between his head and his heart. Trent abdicated the decision, whatever Nick chose, he would support.

To give in would mean they were playing right into Sebastian's hands, granting him willingly a power over them he could never have freely attained otherwise. But to refuse meant Jeff had to pay the price, for something he was not even privy to, and that seemed so much worse than anything Sebastian could impose upon them to perform. If by surrendering himself, he could keep Jeff free of Sebastian's manipulative control, then, to Nick, it was worth it.

Sebastian shrugged, and was moving fluidly towards the door before Nick could even dredge up his voice. His gait left no room for error; this was no light mockery in which he indulged.

"Wait!" It was all he could do to force the words around barred teeth, "we'll do it."

There was no indication from Trent of any contention, and Nick was gratefully humbled. Just as they had pledged the night before; they had each others backs, come what may.

"And here I thought you'd be unreasonable," said Sebastian smoothly, and without turning, he vacated the room.

As soon as he was gone, Trent forcefully upset a chair to his right, venting excessive frustration, while Nick just stood there completely numb, having extolled too great a stock of passion that day already, and left with nothing more to give.

"Do you think he gets a thrill out of messing with peoples lives?" spat Trent, disgustedly.

"'Course he does. It's like some sadistic pleasure to him," muttered Nick darkly.

Just as he had extricated himself from Sebastian's influence, he had slipped right back under, and this time it was with eyes wide open, which made it all the more formidable.

~ * … * ~

When Nick returned to their shared dormitory, it was to find Jeff already gone, and that various miscellaneous objects had been removed.

Aside, everything else was the same; as if Jeff had merely stepped out for a second, but for that contingency, which only seemed to echo the sense of absence louder. He resigned himself to a night spent in solitude; the first since Sophmore year, when Jeff had been vactioning with his family.

If he was really that loath to be alone, then he could have gone to one of the common-rooms – irrespective of the time of day, the oak panelled walls rung eternally with the clamour of student voices – and the not infrequent outbursts of song if four or more Warblers happened to be present at any one time. But there was really only one persons company which he desired, and they would not be there, so he defected.

Instead he took some positive decisive action in trying to salvage his academic career, and avoid flunking altogether.

Delving into his and Jeff's secret, if not restricted candy supply, he extracted a Crunchie bar and a handful of Pear Drops (exclusively Jeff's idea, though he had to admit, he was warming to them) and poured over his numerous text books and assignments for several gruelling hours, until the lines ran together and the words marked a single grey blur before his eyes.

He understood little of what he read, and laboured through the frustration with difficulty; making slow progress, until, discarding the greater bulk of work as presently impossible, he concentrated solely upon and completed a single English essay, long overdue. His progress was further hampered by the tedious practice of one handed typing.

English was the one thing he seemed to harbour an aptitude for, and sitting there blankly, he recalled with vague remembrance, certain important aspects imbued within William Golding's famous _Lord Of The Flies_, and subsequently spent an hour and a half building his critical analysis around them. If he was lucky, it might just be enough to scrape him a C-, but it was a step in the right direction at least.

His abrupt re-commitment to school work served a dual purpose, for it distracted his attention also. Whatever Sebastian was planning boded ill for them all, and Nick hated to be his instrument, but at least Jeff's position in the Warblers was, for the moment, made safe – and though Sebastian may have, in his blinkered ignorance denied it, the Warblers would suffer a deficit without him, and not just harmoniously.

Though Sebastian's words existed within him as a burdensome unease, he refused to give the amoral Warbler the satisfaction of knowing he had unnerved him, and that conviction was indifferent to solitude or company.

At ten pm sharp, he fell, still fully clothed, into bed; completely exhausted. But there he found no rest – Jeff's absence was everywhere; a figure in the dark.

Where was the movement? The rustle of polyester sheets as he turned over three times before succumbing to slumber. Where was the permeating sound of respiration, the integral rhythm of the night? For Jeff never snored, but merely in deep sleep, breathed heavily, as if he had ran a mile in his dreams. Where was the whispered goodnight? That single phrase which held so many other things unsaid.

Everything was wrong and malcontent didn't sleep.

Furthermore, that ache in his chest, which he had became aware of only for the first time that day, was steadily graduating towards the most acute end of unbearable, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, and think of anything beyond that which was currently lost. Jeff had always been important to him, in those early years a brother, and lately, even greater than that.

But he had never realized before;_ just_ how much he cared about him, to what lengths he would go to to ensure the safety and happiness of that one amazing person. _Just_ how integral he was to every aspect of Nick's being, and _just_ how much he needed him, as if a part of himself have been given up for Jeff's safekeeping, meaning he only felt whole; complete, when the blonde was at his side.

Abandoning pretence of restraint and his own bed to boot, he slipped under the covers of Jeff's. They were cold, but they still smelt like him, enough to fool his docile senses into believing he lingered there, just out of reach.

Nick told himself repeatedly that if he were merely to stretch out a hand, he could run his fingers through Jeff's soft blond locks; as he had done that one time when Jeff was sick and inconsolable about missing his fourth solo audition. If he were but to move an inch to the right, he would find Jeff curled close beside him, almost as if some unconscious portion of his mind begged proximity. That if he were to open his eyes in the dawns light, it would be to have them fall upon the face of an angel, a countenance more beautiful than beauty itself …

… And then, it came to him. Like an explosion in the otherwise black sky, bringing into being with its energy, the light of a million stars.

… Holy Crap! … He loved him …

~ * … * ~

Trent returned from his salvage mission with arms laden. He spilled the various cases onto the bare mattress and began grouping them accordingly, while Jeff, who had been otherwise occupied by throwing up individual kernels of popcorn and catching them in his mouth, converged upon the scene, having already polished off the better half of the bowl in Trent's absence.

"So, we've got: Action, Violence, Comedy, Horror, Rom-com – hmmm, don't remember who gave me that one but we should definitely hang out more often – Crime, Adventure, Fantasy, Musical, War and Detective." He gave an appreciative whistle, "Well, aren't we a diverse bunch."

Jeff immediately made a grab for the fantasy selection, grinning wryly when Trent just rolled his eyes in resign. _Pirates of the Caribbean; Curse of the Black Pearl_, _Eragon_ and _Clash of the Ttitans_. Pirates it was then.

He moved eagerly towards the TV before Trent could offer up any protest, executing a decidedly accurate Jack Sparrow impersonation.

That selection surprised no-body.

Heaped in haphazard comfort upon the floor was every spare pillow they could secure between here and Thad's room. Though it wasn't the same, the custom in itself was observed as a testament to Jeff and Nick's own movie night practices; reminiscent of everything good they shared. An ambiance abounded which urged one both to forget and remember.

To the naked eye, which never sought beneath the surface, the scene would appear sincere enough, but all it necessitated was thought to start picking away at the threads, and it soon became apparent that the whole thing was merely a front.

In gratitude, Jeff strove to conceal his moroseness which despoiled very kind intention and refused to abate even in the absence of effective event, leaving him feeling like a fraud. Meanwhile, Trent fretted incessantly over the twisted nature of Sebastian's scheming, and his own oh-so-recent appointment into it, determined in his own right, and sworn upon Nick's to protect Jeff from the knowledge of that which hung in the balance.

As a result, both parties were distracted – a deficit which worked in the favour of each, for the preoccupation of one prevented them from espying the concerns of the other, and suitably pre-empted awkward questions.

They watched the movie in silence; Jeff stretched out upon his stomach, humming along to particularly memorable sections of the soundtrack, and Trent with his back braced against the pine bed-side table, thoughts a million miles away.

He endeavoured to compile the perfect speech which would fill the requirements of his self-taken-upon task, but every time, the words seemed wrong, too pre-existent, too rehearsed and therefore not solicitous, and that was excluding any external difficulties which may arise.

If Jeff was disinclined to listen, then Trent would have no choice but to make him by any means necessary, because Nick had wagered every hope on the whim that Trent might succeed where he would invariably fail. The pressure of acting in someone else's stead was so much greater than acting in your own. He was last chance saloon, and wasn't that encouraging, Trent thought dryly, no pressure them.

It was, therefore, half way through the movie, a full bowl of popcorn and copious, if questionable unions of junk food later, before Trent was even half way satisfied with his approach.

With an overwhelming sense of consternation, he turned towards the blonde, who moved his lips in sync with the words, his accompanying expression a form of comic relief in themselves, which gave Trent heart.

"Jeff, I need to talk to you about some –"

He stopped abruptly when Jeff's phone gave a harsh, waspish vibration, a momentary square of illumination in the otherwise dark and Jeff practically _dived_ to retrieve it.

_Okay_ … ? Trent frowned.

Heart pounding with nervous anticipation, making it almost impossible to draw breath, Jeff unlocked the keypad with fumbling fingers.

One New Message: Kurt.

He text back … _He text back_! Only with the greatest reserves of will did Jeff resist the compulsion to punch the air in victory. He had never doubted it, not even for a second, but none of that diminished the glory of receipt.

It was short, succinct, and by a lesser man, could have been taken in vain. Two words long, and yet it inspired in Jeff immeasurable joy.

It read simply: '_We know.'_

Kurt and Blaine believed them.

Sebastian could go an fall into a crater for all Jeff cared, because friendship was divine and more powerful than any measure of poison he could induce.

But, encouraging though the reciprocal exchange was, it still brought him no closer to ascertaining how Blaine fared … those screams. Jeff shivered. The former Warbler must at least be out of any immediate danger for Kurt to text back at all. Kurt was nothing if not a person of priority, Blaine being his number one. But assumptions made no concrete allusions to fact, and he was through dealing with them. So, abandoning over-cautious sensitivity, he ventured to ask, without adornment:

'_How's Blaine? We're all thinking of you both.'_

He sent it feeling a lump build within his throat; chocking him, and his vision blur with excess moisture even in the darkness. Nick _couldn't_ be behind this. _Couldn't_ be it's instigator.

It was a few moments before Jeff realized how Trent's gaze lingered upon him; questioning but unpresumptuous – a voice without voice, and a communication as effective. It begged the question: what have I missed?

In regaling the exchange, Jeff refrained from looking him in the eye as he spoke Nick's name in conjunction with their own innocence. A wish in longing, a prayer for the redemption of pain. He needed that belief, and he did not trust it to others.

It was there Trent found courage, and abandoning meticulous caution and carefully constructed argument, which he had spent the better part of two hours establishing, he instead appointed his heart to speak: guide of will and truth, vessel of sincerity.

"Jeff, do you remember me saying that we've all made stupid mistakes, and that no-bodies perfect?" The blonde nodded, from those words he had drawn particular encouragement; they had given him the strength he needed to believe. "Well, Nick made an incredibly stupid mistake, only – it's not the one you're thinking …"

And as Trent enlightened him, Jeff's expression grew as radiant as a super nova blotting out the stars, because it was not often one found support for hope. Everything he had refused to believe, was everything which had been tried untrue.

And, in the midst of the two possibly worst days of his life, he smiled without restraint, because despite in-numerous opposition, his faith in Nick had been rewarded.

* * *

><p><em>Never fear, our loveable duo are reunited in the next chapter :)<em>

_Hopefully that was okay for you all, about five times during writing it, I just stopped and thought, gee, what if people hate me for writing this, what if this dissapoints them, or is not what they imagined. The curse of overthinking._

_Any questions, do not hesitate to ask :) I welcome anything you have to say._

_I'm about half way through the second chapter on paper, so I'll give it a couple of days and then start typing up what I've already got. I can't give a date when it will be done by though, sorry._

_As always, thank you for taking the time out to read :)_

_- One Wish Magic._


	2. What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

_Hello again :) First of all thank you so much for the reviews, favourites and alerts! It honestly still bowls me over that people actually want to read this story :') So hopefully there's something in this chapter to satisfy you all. I managed to get this up two days earlier than I thought I would, so as a general rule of thumb, I should update around the 19th of each month, depending how life __interferers __:')_

_I forgot to mention this last time, but from the way I have it planned out in my head this story will be (including this chapter and the previous) Seven chapters long. Eight when including 'And The Whole World Has To Answer Right Now.'_

_Jennyanydots asked me why this is rated M. That's really just over-caution on my part :) just because of what it contains; slash and allusions to Sebastian's promiscuity. It will never contain anything graphic or crude. It makes me uncomfortable reading it, so I'll never write it :') It could be a lesser rating, I might even change it as it goes on._

_I know absolutely nothing about love, and even less about Nick's struggle so apologies for any sappiness in advance :') I tried my best to capture the diversity of it nonetheless, so while in this chapter it is the euphoria of the first realization, in the next, the colour of it changes a little bit :)_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make no profit._

_Hope you enjoy._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two:<strong>

_What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger_

* * *

><p>Fridays coming was hallowed, and it broke without even the merest whisper of precipitation, as if the world itself was stirring anew. A pale light; assailant to the eyes by comparative dankness, prevailed all, breathing a kind of mystic ambiance into the ivory face of Dalton Academy, which stood solitary in its surrounds. A day filled with possibility, beyond the commonplace quota.<p>

The instant Nick stepped outside his dorm onto the plush carpet highway – leaving his door unlocked – he was set upon by a whirlwind force of indiscernible origin. He stumbled backwards, winded, and would have continued along the arch of decline, had he not had the good sense to catch himself against the corner of the wall.

He wondered with vague irritation whether Jonathan had reinstated the practice of rugby tackling the unwary in the hallways and had over-shot his mark – hadn't they been a tedious two weeks. But the contact was too prolonged, too personal.

And then, his dazed senses became active again: the halo of white-blonde hair, the scent of home; as crisp as a volume opened for the first time, as vibrant as a wild meadow set beneath summers highest noon, as distinctive, unravaged and timeless as the most revered ballad: Jeff … _Jeff!_

His arms tightened fiercely around the taller boy, as if a lifetimes allowance of affection necessitated expression within the confines of that single moment, as if he would fuse two separate being to one identity. He was never letting go again.

The blonde reciprocated, the zeal of his embrace almost painful, but Nick would not have surrendered it for the world. He desperately clung to Nick as if the latter formed the only port of anchor in a surreal, anti-gravity parallel, feeling like, finally, he could breath again.

His hands shook so violently that they hampered the movement as again and again he grappled to secure ever increasing portions of Nick's blazer, never seeming to capture enough to satisfy his need.

His Nick was honest, brave and faithful … and Jeff had said some awful things. What's more, it felt like a physical brand of disgrace that he had ever presumed to call that integral and early-era honour into question, even upon the grounds of Nick's own self conviction.

Throughout the entire ordeal, even at its lowest point, Jeff had not shed a single tear, because grief held it allegiance to a lesser spectrum of mourning, one which betrayal surpassed – his friends in that time had been anger and apathetic disbelief. But now, when his heart was swollen only with joy, did he break down and weep, the culminate pressure of the last six weeks finally becoming too more to bare.

"I'm sorry, Nick! I'm so sorry!" he wept without restraint, "I never meant what I said, I was angry and – I could never think that of you!" The words were garbled and broken by chocked sobs, but only made more heartfelt by their stunted deliverance.

"Shhhh," Nick soothed, smoothing comforting circles onto Jeff's back, at a loss of what to say, apart from; "I know."

He _did_ know. Had known the instant Jeff said them, that in reunion they would be retracted. But the words seemed unsatisfactory, as imperfect as a child attempting to explain to a scholar the colour of emotion imbued within Shakespeare's sonnets.

And then with his next breath, Jeff coughed out;

"You're an idiot."

It was said with the best excuse for exasperation he could muster, and his hand struck against Nick's shoulder half-heartedly, as if in timid retribution.

Nick smiled and held Jeff closer, resting his chin upon the silky blonde hair he loved so much;

"So I've been told."

For close to half an hour, Nick merely stood and held him, until everything Jeff had contained within himself and suppressed – presenting an unconquerable presence – found its outlet, like water spilling from a fractured damn. He didn't have to fight any more, didn't have to stay strong, because now it was Nick's due to return the favour; Nick was going to protect _him_.

Jeff had seen Nick at his worst, and yet here he was; still holding on. Gratitude for that strength of dedication could not find its equal in words.

Standing in the main corridor commute way of the dormitory block, absorbed in a parallel moment, they drew glances like honey draws flies; ranging from concern to outright confusion, flavoured sparingly with disapproval.

Once Nick attempted to convey Jeff back to their dormitory, where at least he would be spared the prying eyes of the student population while he recovered his composure, but either he was unwilling to move or simply unable.

So they stood, occupying a single point of time which would seem to possess no exterior. Nick alternatively smoothed his palms back and forth across Jeff's back, in a soothing repetitive motion, and ran them through the white-blonde hair, murmuring a continuous stream of nonsensical sentiments.

Meanwhile, he tried to forget just how close Jeff was; how each unrighteous tear fell upon and changed the properties of his translucent cotton shirt, so that it clung uncomfortably to his skin, a dampness first hot and then penetratingly cold; how Jeff's breathing hitched with every sob, the movement felt through Nick's body as an extension, trembling all the while.

What revelation had afforded him was forgotten in that instant, when reaction usurped thought – his body responding subconsciously and exactly to Jeff's needs. So that, though these things were prominent in his mind, they were not overly disconcerting as otherwise they would have been.

Finally, Jeff quietened and became a limp presence in his arms, every tributary tear spent.

"Better?" Nick asked softly. Jeff nodded, the movement further rumpling Nick's already damp blazer and shirt.

He brushed his lips against the crown of Jeff's head, before realizing what he was doing and aborting the action. To his relief, Jeff didn't appear to have noticed. His stomach turned uncomfortably, his heart erratic at his own carelessness.

"I'm sorry too, for everything I've put you through." Jeff just nuzzled deeper into his neck, he had heard him, and he knew. Nick was forgiven.

Sometimes necessity warranted the speech of obvious sentiments. Sometimes people needed to hear that which they had taken for granted as true, spoken aloud. Sometimes, after an indefinable period of silence between friends, all a person needed to hear was a familiar voice, and the words it offered were irrelevant.

Sebastian had been a blight upon his life that Nick was working to eradicate, but the effort was a bitter slog, because like a plague, Sebastian had clawed back some modicum of that control, even in the celebration of liberty. Sebastian had him lie _again_ to the one person who deserved the truth, through a will to protect them; shelter them from all that was corrupt and waiting ravaged on their doorstep, marking actions that were without variation his own, always a tribute to Sebastian's will. God, he hated the guy.

He guided Jeff back to their dormitory and ushering him into the bathroom, dampened a flannel with cold water, instructing him to bathe his eyes.

As Jeff did so, seated like a solemn figure on the edge of that bathtub, Nick looked on, contesting every screaming urge to hold him once again; both for reassurance and selfish desire. Even with eyes swollen, cheeks blotchy and skin over-warm from weeping, his countenance was still beautiful; still gave Nick butterflies to behold for any length of time.

He knew from prior experience, that in the scope of twenty minutes, Jeff would bounce back, never downtrodden for long, but the red rimmed and bloodshot eyes would endure, a lasting poignancy – for Nick it was converse, he always finding the emotional residue harder to shake than the physical.

One of the most underrated inspirations of our time is the resilience of human nature. What any single person can come back from, if they have to will to fight, defies most our capacity to comprehend. Not even the slavering jaws of death can hold them if they choose life. This abstract concept is ever present, chameleon in its exercise, donning the guises of; bravery, strength, determination, stamina – supplementing our own share when its extent it found too weak. Steel willed and iron hearted, it encouraged the broken to restablish, lent valour to the wary and to the encumbered, failing under the weight of their responsibilities, it gave strength beyond the dowry of life.

As Jeff wiped the cold cloth over his hot, tight skin, he felt the blossoming warmth of embarrassment colour his cheeks anew. He couldn't believe Nick had seen him like that, couldn't believe that he himself had _reacted_ like that; why lament something that was over? Why in elation, dredge up every bad feeling he had shunned in fear of suffocation and have the two extremes meet behind an affected expression in open and ill concealed war? Watching Nick slip away from him day by day had ached with all the intensity of an open wound, but Nick hadn't needed to know that, hadn't needed another portion of guilt to contend with. And, he wouldn't have done, if only Jeff had kept a more severe check upon his wayward emotions. Now it was out there for the world to see, and in the wake of one moment of stupidity, they were left to confront the consequences.

He deserved high commendation for making and complete and utter royal fool of himself, and by extension, Nick too, he thought bitterly. He knew he was stalling, delaying the inevitability of having to look Nick in the eye, waiting for a moment of resolve that would never come, and he thought Nick knew it too, so he offered up the bait of distraction:

"I wanted to come by last night, but we guessed you would already be asleep. Well Trent did, anyway, it took half an hour for him to talk me back into rational thought, when I was all for bursting through your door at midnight."

The topic held no merit whatsoever, and Jeff was not surprised when Nick didn't bite.

The next minute he felt clumsy hands gently relieve him of the wash cloth, and he kept his eyes determinedly averted until Nick's delicate touch caught him under the chin, forcing him to raise his head until hazel eyes married with brown. Whatever he read in Jeff's expression caused Nick's brow to furrow, his countenance troubled and concerned like a child affronted by the mistreatment of a dear friend for the first time.

"You're not allowed to do that, okay?" Nick whispered a warning as unyielding as one with superior volume, but also with a tone of melancholy. He touched his forehead momentarily against Jeff's, so close that their one breath was the reciprocal of the other.

"I'm not ashamed of you. Therefore, you don't have the right to be either." His words didn't say it, they didn't have to, the implication was enough: I'm _proud_ of you. "Showing emotion doesn't make you weak Jeff, it just makes you human, and sometimes, we can all forget that."

Nick still couldn't decide whether he was moved to a greater portion of guilt or endearment by such emotion, the colours of both formed an alarming cacophony in his mind, which made it difficult to think with any measure of clarity.

Almost instantly Jeff's demeanour relaxed. How was it that with so few words Nick could absolve his every care? Was it because he chose the right ones, or was it less about the words and more about the speaker? And he lifted up his gaze without fear, seeing in Nick's face things both old and new; a character both reinstated and discovered. Even if the world was set to ruin around them, Jeff was certain he could still be content, so long as Nick was by his side. Everything else was immaterial.

But, contentment aside, it was decidedly wishful and ultimately foolhardy to believe their contention had gone un-noticed by the greater student bulk. The more looser-tongued of Dalton's population would certainly have had a field day speculating, and to some, perhaps, explanation would be warranted, indifferent to whether the query was raised in earnest concern or idle gossip.

"What are we going to tell people?" Jeff asked slowly, looking up at Nick from underneath his lashes, because it couldn't be the truth; that involved too much casual incrimination to explain away in a handful of minutes.

Nick was the more active problem solver of the pair, while Jeff, slower to react, took more time to consider the scenario from every possible angle; apparent or obscure. Nick bit his lip for a second, considering, then;

"We'll tell them I shrunk your favourite hoodie in the wash, and … you were upset because the family dog died suddenly," he shrugged, inventing wildly, sparing little consideration for credulity. He grinned animatedly, a sign more certain than any that everything between them was more than rectified.

Even despite himself, Jeff laughed;

"I don't really think people are going to believe that I was upset over the death of a dog that I've never mentioned before. Or that you would willingly take it upon yourself to do your own laundry, never mind _mine_."

Nick feigned aghast, offering Jeff's shoulder a playful shove in return for the snub, and catching him immediately when the force over-balanced him, almost sending him sprawling into the bathtub.

"With all the melodrama that goes on here nowadays, I don't think anyone's really going to care about ours," Nick attempted to reassure. Surely their misunderstanding was about as interesting to the general public as Flint's futile attempts to grow a moustache?

"You'd be surprised …" Jeff said warily, looking uncertain.

"Well then," said Nick in a tone of superiority, "if that explanation isn't good enough, we'll just tell them to mind their own bloody business and have done with it. C'mon!"

Jeff allowed himself to be pulled enthusiastically to his feet, smiling. In all those days of fervent hope, he had underestimated just how good having Nick back would feel.

The halls were empty as they made their way hastily to class, the hour having grown late in their ignorance. It was in this time that Jeff noticed something which he was astounded his eyes had overlooked, and it sent a thrill of heat coursing through him, as glorious and remarkable as a fireside beverage on a dark winters night; the realization of shunned hope.

"Your hair!" He exclaimed.

Confused, Nick's hands immediately shot to his head, combing through the tresses systematically, trying to identify anything amiss which might form the source of Jeff's referral. If had looked fine when they had exited their dormitory … surely that much couldn't change within the scope of five minutes and the absence of wind?

Jeff laughed at Nick's panicked expression and overzealous preening, sometimes his friend was just too adorable.

"You changed it back," he clarified, rolling his eyes amusedly, while still retaining his initial spark of elation.

"Oh!" Nick smiled sheepishly, and allowed his hands to fall away. "Yeah, I did. It was too much trouble." And too reminiscent of Sebastian.

"I like it better this way," Jeff grinned simply, reaching over to tousle Nick's hair affectionately.

Nick groaned without exasperation, and reinstated his efforts anew to fix it, this time with cause, while Jeff just laughed, completely unrepentant. Nick liked it better this way too, and he would be lying to say Jeff's approval didn't constitute a generous factor in the preference.

First period passed in a haze of elation. For given every spare moment, Nick and Jeff fell into conversation, inadvertently preventing Trent from getting a word in edgeways. For the sassy Warbler it was a rather humbling experience, though he merely looked on with gracious good humour, happy to see the two kindled souls reunited. He a long-suffering understudy.

In the over-flow of joy; which seemed to diffuse into the environment around them, leaving none untouched by its tender embrace, it was as easy as breathing to forget the culminate horrors and mistakes of judgement which had brought them there in the first place. For ninety glorious minutes, nothing existed outside the company of three friends; a group of equals seeking nought from each other but the simple pleasure of companionship.

Not Sebastian and the implications of his puppetry. Not Blaine and the wrong turn done to him. Not the question of loyalty which was now prevalent in the forefront of each mind indiscriminately. And for that brief space of time, they were content; an echo of days gone by, when Dalton was a haven, not solely a home.

And then, second period came around, and Sebastian's presence proceeded him. The guy's personality should come with its own health warnings, thought Nick bitterly, or a bio-hazard sign, because everything that came from his mouth was poison.

Was it possible for his arrogance to reach new heights? Before today, Jeff would have been a sceptic. But all he knew was that Sebastian _sauntered_ into history, like nothing and no-one could touch him. He was only one person, and yet he made all three of them feel insignificant.

Trent cracked his knuckles with displeasure, clearly envisioning with blunt satisfaction, their collision with Sebastian's nose. Nick might have been revolutionary in striking down a fellow, but no-one would ever drive a person to violence more than Sebastian drove them, who had no heart for it.

Though he did not presume to openly glance at either Nick or Trent throughout, they felt the furtive presence of his gaze linger upon them. And Jeff noticed as they grew minute by minute more uncomfortable, but refrained from questioning them.

Then, half way through the lesson, a note arrived, issuing a summons for Sebastian to attend an audience with the principal. With marked unconcern, he stood, gathered his belongings and complied, exuding an air of satisfaction that was almost certainly misplaced.

He might be going for a stroll as attending his possible expulsion.

Nick, Jeff, and Trent traded significant glances. There could be no doubt as to what issue that conference concerned.

~ * … * ~

Sebastian traversed the ornate hallways without consternation. So now the game became interesting, the heat turned another degree, and with all the more chance of getting burned – just the way he liked it. And to think, he had nursed low expectations of the day.

As long as he focused on the strategy, the play and the victory, to the expense of all else, then he could fool himself into believing that Blaine had never gotten caught in the cross-fire.

In a moment of weakness, he had had called him; just once. The former Warbler had not answered.

But neither had Sebastian been forced to endure the storm-in-a-tea-cup that was Kurt's pathetic attempt at defending the man he loved – which meant, Blaine hadn't told him. Interesting. If there was ever any indication that something endure between Blaine and himself, even despite mischance, then wasn't that it? Because, why else would the former lie? Especially since he had once told Sebastian than him and Kurt prided themselves on honesty.

He smiled lopsidedly. It was all good fun. Life simply a confectionery of competitive events; an overzealous kids party played out to completion over an extension of years.

He was showed into the empty office by a severe looking secretary, who he had been spared the displeasure of meeting thus far. Her manner was brusque and impatient, and he raised an eyebrow at it, for her ribboned cuticles, perceptibly scuffed shoes, which she had evidently endeavoured to disguise with polish, and the streaks of grey at her temples which must have strayed during the dyeing process, told him without uncertainty that her feigned superiority was inferior to the reality of his own.

He looked her up and down scathingly … and _no-one_ wore tweed any more.

"Wait here. Don't touch anything. The Head will be in to see you soon," she motioned, holding open the door to a hexagonal office. Well, clearly _someone_ drew every student with the same pencil.

"Thank you," he smirked with liberal insolence. She scowled and left.

Neglecting formal invitation, he sat, casting a critical eye over the rooms circumference.

Ivory walls met a sea of cobalt blue, and sashes of a similar hue were drawn back artistically to reveal the full impact of seven, story high windows. At its centre was a desk, positioned so that come noon, its occupant and prevader would become emblazoned, like a figure of glorious religion, backed by the sun. Three of the walls were lined ceiling to floor with volumes; no collection of small repute, the remaining crowded with portraiture, photographs, official documents of reverence. And occupying every nook and cranny, or else displayed in plain sight, given its relative impressiveness, were a lifetimes collection of artefacts, originating from each of the five continents of the world.

It was an abode of grandeur, but yet, Sebastian looked down upon it, just as he looked down upon every sophisticated and majestic fixture that Dalton boasted, holding them collectively contemptible. People just used grandeur to hide what was really missing. It helped them live a lie, present a life that was full and desirable, made them seem content with their lot when really they deplored every minute of it. He knew. He had seen it. He had lived it.

Encyclopedia's upon the shelf; the man was a scholar, or at least, wished to foster that pretence. The overbearing of artefacts would force any guest unfortunate enough to spend a prolonged period here alone, to concede that he was cultured and well travelled, to boot. It was a clever ploy, thought Sebastian with appreciation. Every single person was pretentious to a fault, but this here, was his homeland, and no-one could call him on it; a rigged polka match, forever in the favour of the dealer.

As for the reprisal of his actions, he remained unconcerned; there were not going to be any. He was shrewd and the allure of money, power and status he knew too, and exactly how they drove people. This was merely a formality. He would have lost his touch if he came away from here with anything more than a caution. He had never had any extended encounter with the Principal in person, but by experience, he knew, they all tended to fall within the same archetype. Finding diversity in education was as challenging as playing polo without a horse.

The game had strayed into foreign territory, leaving him at a deficit, exactly as he liked it, for such circumstances marked the rules obsolete, and made everything just that much more fun.

His attention falling more near at hand, he catalogued the items upon the desk. Offering the room at large a derisive snort when he noticed the photograph that was bestowed pride of place there.

The image showed two golden haired children; a girl and a boy, their arms slung casually around one another in a loose embrace, grinning broadly against a back-drop of green. The faded hues and creased edges suggested that it had been taken some years before.

Sebastian shook his head with scorn; he would never understand why people insisted on having photographs, for they did nothing by mar professionalism, and made meticulous practices appear untidy. His family home had never boasted any of him growing up.

He wondered where little Suzie and Billy were now. Had they grown up happy, basking in their parents preponderance of photographs? Or maybe things had been adverse. Had they instead resented daddies long hours; the plethora of recreational business trips?

In the end, parents always let you down … They were always a disappointment. They held you to standard they had never attained themselves.

The door swung inwards, and in strode a tall, rapidly greying, bespectacled man of around 60, with a creased forehead and aquiline nose; straight backed and straight talking.

"Good morning, Mr. Smythe, thank you for waiting." Always the genial and generic greeting. It was said pleasantly, but with an air of reserved formality proceeding something unsavoury. His attention appeared enraptured by the contents of the memo he was currently pursuing, for he did not look up from it as he alighted.

"Sir," Sebastian returned with civility, more than he had extended to anyone thus.

Here was a man married singularly to his work; Sebastian's second conjecture then seeming all the more fitting by the minute. Money; the double edged knife; you craved it and it destroyed you. He looked upon the man with quiet reproach.

Appearing satisfied by the information, the Principal laid aside the memo, and steepling his fingers, looked over their crest gravely at Sebastian, as if he would descry every sin of the wasted heart.

"Mr. Smythe, there have been some serious allegations lodged against certain students at this school, and against yourself in particular, involving an attack on an ex-student; Blaine Anderson. Are you in possession of any knowledge concerning what may have caused those accusations to be cast?"

Sebastian performed his best impression of wide-eyed innocence, a mask long ago perfected.

"No, sir. Nothing." And then, with ill-concealed concern, which in retrospect, probably helped his case rather than hindered it, though its impart was completely unintentional; "Is Blaine okay?"

"He was taken to Lima General on Wednesday night. I am to understand that his condition is stable, but that further surgery will be necessary." All of this was said bluntly, removed of emotion; a merely factual account.

Meanwhile, Sebastian's world crumbled into dust. Hospital? _Surgery_? What had he done?

If only Blaine hadn't got in the way! Damn chivalry, he should have anticipated it. But even his admiration was tinged with scorn and jealousy, because of all the guys with whom he had shared that intimate embrace, which would have done that for him?

None.

"I see this comes as a surprise to you."

"Yes, sir," Sebastian mumbled, momentarily subdued.

"You must understand, Mr. Smythe, that this is no isolated incident, and that the proper procedures must be observed. Yesterday afternoon, I received phone calls from both Mr. Anderson senior, and a Mr. Will Schuester, who is head of the McKinley High glee club, of which Mr. Anderson junior is a member. Both detail a confrontation between the Dalton Academy Warblers and the New Directions, during which time, you produced a crushed-ice drink, also known as a 'slushie' and threw it in Mr. Anderson juniors face, causing moderate damage to his vision.

"As I am sure you were made aware preceding your induction, Dalton Academy operates a strict zero tolerance policy on violence and any other offensive, hurtful and otherwise unacceptable forms of conduct. We wish to provide here a pleasant, and above, a safe environment. And we expect our students to abide by certain principles and customs of behaviour, both within and outside of this establishment. As you can understand, such accusations place me and this school in a very difficult position, and this image is not one the establishment is interested in presenting to prospective students.

"What was done to Mr. Anderson junior, whether by your hands or someone else's constitutes bodily harm, and is a federal offence, punishable by a criminal record and further retribution if found guilty. Therefore, I must impress upon you Mr. Smythe the seriousness of this matter.

"I have an excess of fifteen witnesses who place you at the scene, and more than that, as its main perpetrator. Furthermore, there is evidence to suggest that all of the Warblers were off campus at the time of the attack. So, I think I'd better have your version of events before this matter goes any further."

All of this was said with such rigidity that even Sebastian found himself lacking a witty retort, though he still had mind enough to do some fast talking. Lying was a skill he had perfected in kindergarten, and lying himself out of compromising situations came naturally.

Looking suitably abashed and contrite, he adopted a tone half-way loyal to both aghast resistance and implored belief;

"I do not deny that we were there, sir, or that some unsavoury terms were exchanged on both sides, which I will not repeat. You see, it had been our intention to perform a medley of Michael Jackson songs at Regionals, but before we could submit our set-list – a fault entirely my own, it was brought to our attention that the New Directions were planning to perform Michael also, and that, furthermore, they had already submitted their set-lists." He indicated the Principal as he spoke, seeking accord; "as you know, only one school can cover any single artist; last years amendment."

Comfortable with the yarn he was spinning, he slouched casually in the chair that little allowed for it, and crossed his right leg with his left ankle. The Principal _wanted_ to believe him, wanted the honour of his establishment retained unsmirched, wanted to have his celebrated glee club perform at Regionals with all men accounted. And so the rest was child's play, because when someone wanted to believe something with that level of desperation, it didn't take much to convince them.

So Sebastian didn't know love – it didn't matter. He knew every vice and flaw of humanity better than he knew himself, and what's more, he was proficient at exploiting them to their fullest extent.

"Having already performed Michael at Sectionals, as a team we felt that it contravened the spirit of equal rights. So we arranged a meeting between our two parties and went to discuss it with them in a neutral location; so that neither of us could claim a home-side advantage."

"There may have been a … scuffle," he admitted as if begrudgingly and with shame, though seemingly determined to be honest, "between Blaine and myself, but nothing more than that, I swear. I'm not proud of my actions, sir. I fear I got carried away; said some things which I regret. But neither do I seek to conceal them. It was my fault, I won't run from my mistakes." He shook his head in a would-be despairing fashion.

"I should have kept calm and acted more responsibly. But when we left, Blaine was _fine_. Whatever happened for him to end up in hospital must have happened afterwards." Eyes wide and wounded, he regarded the greying man, and not a shadow of guilt encroached upon that expression to taint it.

The Principal looked at him calculatingly from above them rim of his gold-trimmed, circular frames, with an air of something he suspected having been confirmed. But if that was true, he passed no comment other than:

"And the rest of the Warblers?"

"They were only following my lead, sir. They don't deserve to be punished for something that was my fault. I should have set a better example." He hung his head accordingly. Dishonesty was a pantomime, and he played the part flawlessly.

No. He would bide his time. Nick, Trent and Jeff would be made to suffer reprisal for their insubordinate boldness on_ his _terms only. Pawns sacrificed in the strategy.

"Well, Mr. Smythe," said the Principal suddenly smiling – which heralded an immediate shift in the atmosphere, pervaded by the sweet scent of victory – his rigid demeanour banished to one more amiable, "you'll be pleased to hear that your story checks out, but you knew it would anyway." He winked minutely. "I took the liberty of procuring myself a copy of your set-lists," he brandished the sheet of paper whose contents had been so absorbing upon his entrance, and Sebastian silently thanked all cunning premonition that he had thought to doctor the date, thereby giving the false document a false credibility. Always be one step ahead of the game. "And of also speaking to several of your associates; all of whom reported the same version of events as yourself."

Sebastian sighed with relief, as one whose innocence has been proven against astronomical odds, while internally, he was smug. What were the chances of everything working out so perfectly with so little prompting from himself? It was refreshing indeed to have things just fall comfortably into place.

"However," the Principal recalled his repentant attention sternly, "there is no doubt that your actions were foolish, reckless and misguided and could have cost the school dearly, so therefore, I am giving you a warning. Any repeat of similar behaviour will result in an unspecified term of suspension. Any repeat after that time, and it will mean expulsion. Do I make myself clear?

In that moment, Sebastian perceived in the genteel man, something of himself, given many years more practice: a need, always, to be right, to have the last word. Maybe it was that personality flaw which had attracted him to the job in the first place; the jurisdiction it granted him to impose his will upon others. Given a different set of circumstances, Sebastian would have had no qualms in challenging it, would have relished the opportunity even, but as a seasoned game-player, he recognised when to bluff and when to fold. And so, he folded.

"Abundantly, sir." Humbled.

"It is also usual practice to relieve the offending student of his privileges, indefinitely." He gazed at Sebastian levelly, frowning, as if something of that protocol displeased him, meanwhile, Sebastian felt the first real lurch of panic; he _needed_ glee club.

Then, the Principal spread his arms wide, as if to embrace revolution; "but owing to your honesty and clear repentance, I think we'll overlook the procedure; just this once." He offered Sebastian a conspiratorial smile, which the latter returned animatedly.

Nothing more than a caution. Was he good or was he good? What the world of music won, the world of theatre lost in Sebastian Smythe. Everyone nurtured a weakness concealed, everyone had a price, and the hardest thing was finding it. After that, every character was pliant.

"What will happen now, sir?" he asked, genuinely curious. He could indulge in self-congratulatory sentiments later, when the action was not so perfidious.

The Principal, now relaxed, sank gratefully into the expensive leather, relieved to be able to sweep the whole horrible business aside.

"Well, upon the grounds of a lack of anything beyond circumstantial evidence, transforming this affair into the petty feud of one schools word against the other, and taking into account that a proper investigation would have the forseeable effect of causing both our respective clubs to be withdrawn from the competition, it is unlikely that any formal proceedings shall be instigated. However, it would not cause you no greater detriment to extend an apology to Mr. Anderson junior for the part you _did_ play in the nights events."

"No, sir. Of course," he assured with a malicious smile, its constitution misinterpreted as something more wholesome by the other.

"Very well, Mr. Smythe, you may go. Kindly return to your lessons."

Sebastian stood and walked with composure towards the door, resisting the overriding urge to saunter. As he turned the crystal knob, and extended one foot past the doorway, the Principal called back to him; "and please try to be a little less _free spirited_ in your classes, or we may have to see more of each other, with less pleasant outcomes for us both." His tone was both stern and resigned.

Without turning, Sebastian smirked insolently, now _that_ he would look forward to. He would like to see anybody who thought they could break him.

"_Sir_," he undermined. The distance too great for the Principal to adequately identify the contempt with which he spoke.

He closed the door, and called half time.

The Principal would want Sebastian to think that he had done him a great service by departing from precedent, but he saw through the phantasm for the illusion it was. Simply, he was keen enough for Dalton to take the Nationals title to willingly overlook the clear conviction of the incident. And people thought Sebastian was amoral?

But one triumph did not eclipse the loss. Blaine was still gone, and nothing could ever absolve that grief.

~ * … * ~

As bad as things were before, was how much better they became.

While discord inevitable revealed the worst of people; a precipitous of bad choices wagered against all you thought you knew, until solidarity is trailed infirm, and fate found a liar. Similarly could reunion uncover the very best.

Few things in reality ever lived up to glory of idolized expectation, because we didn't live in a rose-tinted world, but how completing it felt for each simply to linger once again in the other presence, surpassed even that seemingly insurmountable height. It was perfect.

But there was also a tone of desperation to their proximity, which could only be sated by some form of continuous contact; one arm pressed lightly against the others, a hand extended on a shoulder, a body always inclined. As if they were unwilling to ever again let the other go.

Nick struggled to recall a time when Jeff had smiled so frequently. The blondes ill-contained elation made him excitable, figity and easily distracted, in a completely un-Jeff-like manner, that was completely endearing, and highly amusing to witness.

It echoed of the time when, amazingly hyperactive on left-over Halloween candy, he, Jeff, Thad and David himself, had ruptured the structure of David's bed right down the middle, when someone had vocalized the bright idea to execute a simultaneous back flip. _That_ was an explanation they had certainly not suffered through with straight faces.

And in return, Jeff could neither remember ever seeing Nick look so content, and more than that; at home within himself, as if for his entire life thus far, he had carried with him some encumbering denial which had so recently found relief, and only now in its absence was its presence retrospectively perceived. He would remind Nick hourly what an amazing person he was, and had no necessity to change, if that was what it took, because they were never going back to how things were, again.

At Sebastian's exit, it had seemed that the room at large released a collective breath that it had not even realized it was holding.

Again, Trent marvelled at the presence of one boy. Such uncompromising authority did he exude, that any person in that room, would have performed, without question, anything he could have told them. But it was a compliance bought with intimidation, not loyalty, and therefore, was temperamental. Sebastian believed that the acid partnership of fear and sharp wit won him respect, but Trent didn't think he realized that what it reaped was false; a poor imitation, or maybe he just didn't care. That being said, however, there were a few members of the Warblers particularly, who held him in earnest reverence; Flint, Theo and Andrew among them. But even that solicitous affection found its root in selfish desire; they played to their own advantage, the echo of his infamy. Parasites anchored to the underbelly of a whale.

Sebastian would behave like the whole world bowed down to him with grace, when really he was nothing more than a little lonely boy, who poisoned everything around him, destroying as he went. No place that ever contained him would be pure. And Dalton, certainly, would have been better off without him.

His bitter feeling towards one fellow was absolved instantly to look upon the euphoria of two others, dearer. Nick and Jeff were like the physical paragon of a soundtracks most inspiring crescendo. And how dare Sebastian come between them. Together, they were hope, were faith, were integrity; a beautiful union, disproportionate to the most fairy-tale forever.

Almost reluctantly, he returned his attention back to the passage he was meant to be translating and steeled himself for the effort. Absently he wondered if Mrs. Greene was aware of just how little her conjugations meant to two of their number. Maybe it was better she didn't. After all, she had been particularly stern with the Warblers since the whole Uptown Girl incident …

Nick felt nervous, excited, giddy, uncertain and decidedly off-balance in concurrence, so that he could hardly contain it – though he resisted confronting it. It was as if his senses, leaving something to be desired before, had been enlightened to an entirely new spectrum of experience, and he was struggling to take it all in. He had never been more acutely aware of his bodies reactions, and the whole experience was so delightfully disconcerting that he didn't know whether to laugh or fly (because right then, nothing seemed impossible.)

He had never noticed before exactly how long Jeff's lashes were; just a few shades darker than his hair, thick and fanned; and how they framed his eyes, bestowing upon them a fascinating lustre. Never noticed how, when in a bashful persuasion, not uncommon to his reserved and endearingly awkward nature, he tended to lick his lips more frequently, or, like now, when assailed with the swells of some intoxicating emotion, which left him markedly unsure of himself. Never noticed how warm a presence Jeff was to have beside him, as if some of the suns ambiance had been gifted to one earthbound vessel, attributing him with a brilliance beyond compare. Jeff took his breath away, quite literally.

He had never felt simultaneously so certain and yet, so unsure. Everything still remained the same, but yet it felt like he was discovering each little thing for the first time. Had he always known? A part of him, long subservient seemed to think that maybe he had, but yet, he just didn't know. In all the years they had know each other, he had never thought of Jeff in _that_ way before, never really thought of anyone. So if there had been no indication, even within himself, could he really have been forewarned? And would it have still come as a revelation even if he had?

But there was no denying how Jeff made him feel. Alive. His touch caused a shiver snake its way down Nick's spine in a manner that was not at all unpleasant. His gaze made Nick lose his train of thought, each and every time. And even just the sound of his voice, whispering the casual use of his name, called a blush to Nick's cheeks. He felt complete in the blondes presence, as if everything before has been leading up to this one epiphany.

Those things were real, undeniable, which meant their connotations were too.

But, what that implied about himself, he was not yet ready to confront, because it was something society dictated was perverse. He wasn't strong like Jeff, he didn't find peace within himself, but for the first time, it seemed possible that he might. And the reason why, scared him.

Dalton had accepted Blaine and Kurt, welcomed them with open arms, and it tolerated Sebastian; even the whispers surrounding his liberty in partner. But would the same curtsey be extended again? _They_ had always been who they were, it was harder when you had began as someone else. Times had changed and continued to; Dalton was not as friendly as it had once been.

Blaine and Kurt both, had been driven from their previous schools because of who they were; a person society didn't want to accept, and had come here. If Nick was driven away from here, where else would there be left to go?

He needed to know how Jeff felt, but he was too scared to ask. It was not a question one threw into casual conversation across the breakfast table. "_Pass the butter. How's your eggs? By the way I think I have feelings for you, where do we go from here?_"

He was not willing to sacrifice their friendship for the sake of a possibly unrequited love, even if the secret killed him. Because the alternative was too painful to consider.

They went down to lunch together, talking animatedly all the way. Of things which mattered to best friends, even if, to the world at large, they bore little consequence.

Taking the spot in the distant, right had corner of the grandly ornate and high-ceilinged canteen, with the still timid rays of butterscotch light filtering through and magnified by the central skylights, Jeff thought Dalton had never looked more magnificent, even the first time he had seen it.

His discomposure of the morning seemed like a million miles away, part of another lifetime entirely. And though he regretted losing control after so long spent strong, and in such a public setting, he did not for one moment regret Nick seeing him so affected, for, if anything, it had only brought them closer; made them stronger. They had always been honest with each other, and what was more honest than emotion? In the last two days alone, they had each cast aside masculine bravado and laid bare their innermost turmoil for the world to see indiscriminately, feelings did not come any more sincere than that, when so much of life was dependant on a front of strength. They had always said that they could tell each other anything, and while that had never been a falsehood, now it really _felt_ like it.

Nick had held him close, and in that embrace, everything was made right again. He had never felt so safe, so valued and so wanted, and this inner warmth he could quickly acclimatise to, because friendship was a fire, ignited even within the oppression of the darkest pits, and burned bright for a lifetime.

So preoccupied was he with his own musings, that he about shot out of his chair in surprise when his phone, which he had laid upon the table for just such an occasion, emitted a low-throated and demanding _thrum_, as if the tone alone conveyed the urgency of the message. He knew instantly the sender.

Trying unsuccessfully to swallow down a mouthful of pasta without chocking, he sidled over to Nick so that they could both read the message simultaneously, and without the necessity to dictate. Nick was already pre-informed of all that had passed between the two parties.

Jeff could feel the residual tension, lingering always on the edge of his conviction, recalled to Nick's demeanour through the hand which rested upon his shoulder. He squeezed it lightly, offering comfort and unity. They were in this together, and together they were about to confront the consequences of something which lay ill within them all. A reflection of what was; and people didn't like reminding.

"Okay?" Jeff clarified gently, gazing into the turbulent depths of Nick's eyes for verity. His own desperation to know Blaine's fate aside, he would not do anything that would force Nick into uncomfortable territory, and if he declined, then Jeff would leave the message suspended in limbo, until such a time as he was alone.

Hesitating for a moment, Nick nodded and Jeff opened the message. It read:

_Sorry for the late reply.  
><em>_We've just got out of the hospital; heading home now.  
><em>_Blaine's tired and sore, but the doctors are hopeful, which is something, I guess. He's his same determinedly cheerful self, though I think that's mostly for my benefit. I don't know who's been more of an emotional wreck through all this me or him! Who am I kidding? Me. He took everything in his stride like always.  
><em>_Got to have surgery next week :(  
><em>_He hasn't said anything about it, but I know he's worried … I am too :/  
><em>_He wants me to tell you that he's 'fine' *rolls eyes* and not to worry; he knows it wasn't you.  
><em>_Mr. Schue contacted your head over what happened through Principal Figgins. Has anything been said to Sebastian yet?  
><em>_Blaine's on strict bed rest for the next couple of days, but how about we call you tomorrow night, once he's caught up on some sleep? Goodness knows he must be sick of hearing my voice, and I think It'll be good for him to know that he still has friends at Dalton. About Seven? _

_Kurt and Blaine x_

There was a sense of surrealism which proceeded the moment. A potent disbelief given to an occurrence so noisomly in-ordinary you could almost fool yourself into believing it was nothing more than a vivid nightmare, but for the sense of disquiet, which pervaded every breath. It left you feeling outside yourself, with a will to help and a wont to hide away.

But if ever they were to take heart, and sometimes that was the only thing left to take, when all else fades, it would be in the silver lining that, for all his wanton destruction, their bond, melded in significant song, Sebastian had not, and what is more, could not, ravage. It was something too pure for him to touch, hallowed to his craft.

Jeff quickly typed out a reply, eagerly assenting, and the seconds graduated to minutes of silence until;

"Surgery," Nick repeated, numbly, shaking his head in incredulity, "_what_ did Sebastian put in there?"

"Knowing him, probably rocks or something; sand. Anything that can get in a persons eyes and cause untold agony, I don't think he'd care if it could actually harm them. Clearly he didn't," intoned Jeff darkly, eyes rounded and distant; haunted.

But aware, always, of Nick's every breath beside him, he sensed the brunette break anew, and though his self-sacrifice was astounding and certainly endearing, it was also unjustified, and Jeff would not suffer it to come to light.

"Oi!" he bumped his shoulder affectionately but meaningfully against Nick's own, until the brunette smiled begrudgingly, won over by the puppy dog expression Jeff employed to full advantage against him. He was a sucker for those eyes; for that boy.

"Please, don't think like that, okay?" he implored with quiet emotion, until something within him stirred a fire, "In fact, I forbid you. None of this was your fault, and you have to stop feeling like it was, Nick. If we all went round blaming ourselves for every mishap, just because something we may have done or said in a roundabout sense _may_ have influenced it, then no-body would ever get out of bed. We'd be too crippled by guilt to function." And then feeling that the few last days of their life had laid too much emphasis on seriousness already, he shoved Nick playfully.

An overwhelming pride left him feeling momentarily hypersensitive. This sensitive, caring, noble and sacrificing person was the Nick he had known, come back to him. A dream transpired into certainty.

Allowing Jeff's words to wash over him, Nick found some elusive modicum of peace, that permitted him the freedom to begin to lay the matter to rest. His lip quirked slightly;

"You forbid me …" he repeated slowly, emphatically, raising on eyebrow suavely.

"Yes." Jeff feigned haughtiness.

"And what would you do if I were to break the conditions of this restraint?" Nick challenged, grinning lopsidedly.

Jeff narrowed his eyes, as if about to impart a shrewd warning;

"You forget, Mr. Duval, that I know where you keep complete series' of Supernatural …"

Nick gasped in a dramatic fashion, while Jeff laughed and appeared overly smug. But then, Nick echoed;

"And _you_ forget, Mr. Sterling, that _I_ know where you keep your copy of Order Of The Phoenix. The one with the ink-blot on the fifty-second page that looks like the sorting hat …" Now it was Nick's turn to laugh indulgently, while Jeff looked apprehensive, apparently re-thinking his policy.

"Touché" he accepted finally, grandly.

Then, without warning, taking advantage of the moment, Nick reached for Jeff's phone, where it lay once again idling on the table, and a second too late, Jeff lunged to retrieve it. Everything else was fair game when it came to their possessions, but there was one rule: Nick was not allowed within 10 centimetres of Jeff's phone. It was a restriction enforced when, having employed the advantages of a new phone to good use, spending the evening prank-calling various Warblers, much to their disgruntlement, Nick had accidentally dialled Jeff's father by mistake … at three in the morning … claiming he had won a years supply of bacon. That had taken some skilful explaining by the blond, and a black mark set against Nick's name forever.

But Nick had more covert motives, the phone was just a decoy, for the movement Jeff had made to retrieve it, inadvertently left his side completely exposed. And without preamble, Nick went in for the kill, his fingers liberally, but with just the right amount of force wandering the region between Jeff's hip and ribs; the most sensitive to touch.

The result was instantaneous. Jeff emitted a sound halfway between a squeal of laughter and a gurgled protest, immediately folding in upon himself, scrabbling to protect the offending area from further attack, and squirming comically all the while.

Laughing so hard that his lungs ached with the motion, Nick finally relented, allowing Jeff again to catch his breath. He was so cruel, but it was so worth it because nothing in the world made him feel like Jeff's laughter did.

"Yes!" He commended his triumph heartily, punching the air. "Everytime!"

Around the hall, a few heads cast curious glances towards the source of commotion, but most defected after a few seconds of affirmation, too well used to the eccentricities of the pair to have much extended interest. Some even grinned vicariously. Though a few Freshmen looked upon them with discouragement.

"No fair," Jeff called a foul, still guarding his sides possessively as he offered Nick a suspecting glance. Nick just continued to chuckle, not in the least repentant. Finally, after prolonged exposure to Jeff's wounded look wore him down – just as the blonde knew it would – he held up his hands in an indication of surrender;

"Okay, okay, I'm done. I promise." he said softly.

Jeff scrutinized him for a moment before his mask of injustice resolved once again into his almost permanent state of elation.

Any situation can be revoked or transcended by the simple turn of a phrase. Words can inspire truth, revelation, strength, when compounded into something meaningful, or they can alter the ambiance of an exchange, depending upon what we each personally chose to perceive of and from them; what strikes particularly at the heart, transforming something that suffered inception in ugliness into something concluded in beauty. Words indeed were powerful, but they were not necessary for communication, just an easy habit, it was that which they were spoken with that lent them their reverence; emotion.

In one moment they spoke of events rank with gravity, in the next they were merely having fun, drowning out a noisome threat with laughter. And after? That was the beauty of conversation, as free as the wind, a course without pre-dictated direction.

Being with Nick was like living a song. It made him feel things that he couldn't even begin to describe, begin to explain, any friendship before did not compare. And those passions, breathtaking in the first instance, were made even more potent in their relative novelty, their somehow altered reinstatement.

It was a subtle distinction; that it no longer felt that he simply _wanted_ to be close to his best friend, but rather, that he _needed_ to be, and yet it rung of great import, just outside of tangibility.

Things between them had never been better than how they were now, but yet there was … something. A barrier, which had never existed before, outside of sight, outside of touch, beyond even the realm of consciousness. It's heart could not be infiltrated, and yet, it didn't intimidate him, for its allusion was towards something wonderful; the shadow of a sunrise, biding its time to stir.

He wondered at it curiously, for it made him feel like he idled on the cusp of something remarkable. But whatever it was, so long as it found him and Nick together, he didn't care where else it would take him.

His pleasant reverie was broken by reality, the conversation having come full circle;

"Blaine will be okay," Nick said, as if to himself, as if uttering the words aloud would somehow help to make them true, "he has to be."

"Surgery," Jeff repeated uncertainly, as if trying the word on for size. None of this was conducive to what the Warblers represented.

Somehow, knowing didn't ease the burden as they had thought it would. Because it wasn't the news they had yearned for. It only made the whole thing seem more imposing, perhaps greater even than it was.

"We should go and see him … if he'll have us," Jeff added as an afterthought, though maintaining the air of one who would not willingly be dissuaded, "show some solidarity. And show Sebastian that its more than a tie, a blazer and a voice which makes a Warbler. It's about honour, tradition and above all, unity." Jeff's hand balled into a fist, which he brought down heavily onto the table as he spoke, the impact resounding.

Despite himself, Nick grinned. There was something chivalrous and old school in Jeff that made him love him all the more. Ignoring the caution in his soul, he reached out and took Jeff's wrist, even as he had attempted to in the immediate wake of confession. This time, Jeff did not pull away, but rather, seemed instinctively to lean into the touch, and Nick smoothed his thumb back and forth across the soft pale skin, until the fingers grew lax and surrendered their aggressive shape. He would never let Jeff be anything more than a pacifist.

"We will," he reassured confidently, "the original Warblers stand as a united front. Sebastian may have wormed his way in, but he'll soon come to realize there's more to being Head Warbler that the privileges and control the position buys. You have to win the support of thirteen people, and make good choices with each and every one of them in mind. Sebastian has nothing, and one day the world will come crashing down on him, and it'll be no more than he deserves."

But despite his impassioned words, Sebastian still had him bound under oath, and he could never forget it. The vindictive Warbler had identified his strongest weakness, and used it to devastating advantage.

And sitting there, feeling how Jeff's pulse quickened beneath his touch, only made Nick more protective of him, more determined to preserve that which before had always been a given and now was a wager. And by extension, only made him more compliant to Sebastian's every will.

As if on cue, the Warbler in question chose that moment to swagger into the canteen, and was immediately converged upon by a group of fellows, all of whom appeared to share a common interest and had definitely been awaiting his return with bated breath.

There was not a hint of admonishment in his features, nor did the imposition of retribution hold sway over him. And from the amount of fist-pumping, back-slapping and general gloating which was exchanged between them, they seemed to be celebrating a victory.

"Unbelievable!" Nick and Jeff scowled simultaneously.

The remainder of lunch found them in small company in the common room, on the pretext of Jeff owning a pressing assignment that necessitated completion.

However, Nick saw no evidence of it; of anything beyond some light reading which he could have done easily at his own leisure that night. Besides this was _Jeff_. The boy was born organized, he had never left anything until the last minute in his life. Though his efforts could use a little more subtlety, Nick was grateful for his sacrifice, because they both knew that he was the project.

The action said: _I'll stand by you for however long it takes. I never gave up on you. _

Jeff would be his body of moral support; tutor, companion, second mind lent willingly to an exhaustive to-do list, until Nick found his feet again, and even after. What had he done to deserve the friendship of someone so amazing?

Currently, they were sat opposing one another across the table closest to the hearth, though the coals would remain cold until tonight. Jeff swung back on his chair, knee's braced against the tables edge, happily proof-reading Nick's essay and to the latter's eternal gratitude, neglecting to mention that in fact it was due in four weeks ago. At least if he had erred in his supposition, Jeff's keen eyes would catch it before it was submitted, or else the blonde would help him augment an underdeveloped point to his advantage – which, not least, could mean the difference between a pass or fail.

Meanwhile, Nick poured despairingly over sheet after sheet of equations, until his mind was so befuddled that the substitution 'X' lost all significant meaning, and just made the information appear as overly affectionate jargon. He resisted the urge to scream with frustration only by a hairsbreadth. Even hard work could not conquer impossibility, and the injustice stung, because he was trying his absolute best.

Jeff was a good all-rounder, averaging straight A's in every class, not that he didn't have to work for them, while Nick was more likely to dither on the cusp of a B+ and A- though with an especial aptitude for English.

Or, that was until recently, when he had unwittingly gambled with his future and lost. Now those A's and B's had degenerated into E's and even F's, to his own personal shame. When the most recent report cards had been sent home, with the highest grade on Nick's being a D-, his parents had not spoken to him for a week, even threatening to remove him from Dalton if a vast improvement wasn't witnessed; away from Jeff. So their was a dual motive in his sudden re-commitment to education. He remembered how Jeff tried to help him even then. He really had never given up.

But all of those things had eventually come as an unfavourable wake up call; that what seemed like harmless fun could dictate his prospects for a lifetime, and he wasn't willingly to throw it all away.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath and try again, foot tapping rapidly against the plush carpeted floor as an outlet for his frustration, he began anew, approaching the problem from a fresh perspective, and with a revised arsenal. Nothing was _impossible_, it was just that finding the way and means to conquer it often took longer than we would first anticipate.

This positive attitude, however, lasted all of two minutes as, following his notion to completion, he found it at least as useless as its predecessors, and maybe even more so, because now that he had employed it to it's failure, he was sure he had done so once before already. Oh this was hopeless!

In one fluid movement, he threw down his pencil, and crossed his arms cantankerously, as if to empathize just how unprepared he was to further humour the maths which he didn't remember.

"I give up," he announced stonily, when Jeff raised an eyebrow at his reaction. Why did admitting defeat make him feel so angry with himself?

Then, looking sympathetic, Jeff brought all four legs of the chair back to their original setting with a muffled thud, before moving to occupy instead the seat on Nick's immediate left, completely undeterred by the scowl-like expression Nick's features wore, watching them resolve into desperation as he alighted.

"I can't do it," Nick admitted forlornly, lifting up his eyes to meet Jeff's without shame, only implore.

To his surprise, Jeff laid a finger upon his lips, and hushed him softly. Nick tried to ignore the sudden inferno which raced across his skin, emanating from that point, and hoped foolishly that Jeff couldn't see it.

"First of all, have a little more faith in yourself," he smiled, before brandishing Nick's essay. "You told me that if you were lucky, this might just be enough to scrape you a C." Nick nodded his assent, and Jeff laughed incredulously, "Nick, you'll be exceedingly _unlucky _if this doesn't get you an A! It's brilliant! So reserved and yet so insightful. Some of the things you say, I've never even considered them that way before, but then when I stop and think about it, I realize that it all makes perfect sense, and then I wonder how I missed it in the first place. _Really!_" Jeff insisted with feeling, when Nick only continued to look at him in disbelief. The humble man was one whose talents should always be endorsed.

"And, secondly; do you think I'm here just to add to the aesthetics of the room?" He laughed. "I swore I'd help you in any way I could, and if you don't know how to do something, then all you have to do it _ask_ me … We never had a problem asking each other for help before …" he finished looking confused, maybe even sounding a little hurt.

That was true, permitted Nick. Before, when Jeff's close presence didn't make him forget the necessity to breath, or leave him uncharacteristically tongue tied, or make him lose his train of thought, or second guess first himself and then everything else prior, then Nick had had no qualms about asking for help. But now …

"I know," Nick reassured him, forcing an off-handed tone to better cover the flatness of his lie, "I just wanted to see if I could remember it myself first. Can't rely on you to always come and bail me out all the time," he joked without the slightest hint of humour.

Jeff frowned before muttering something that might have been a defensive; _why not?_ but could have also been anything else besides. And then his voice grew stronger;

"Come on, show me what you're stuck on."

Nick obligingly handed him the most recent of the sheets he had been deciphering. He watched Jeff's eyes move back and forth across the page, strangely captivated by them, and with butterflies in his stomach that had nothing to do with concern over whether the problem could be solved or not.

After a minute Jeff nodded;

"Simultaneous Equations. Tricky, but not impossible. Here, I'll go through a couple with you until you get the hang of them … wait, where did the pencil go? He quickly scanned their vicinity, but drew a blank.

Nick smiled sheepishly before extracting another and proffering it in replacement. But rather than accept it, Jeff gasped with something close to horror.

"Nick!" And he immediately took hold of Nick's hand in the cup of his own, examining it with grief. "Ow!" he sympathised shakily, devastation in his eyes.

Nick realized his mistake belatedly, and there was no taking it back. In the euphoria of reunion, the pain had ceased to matter, ceased even to exist, or so it seemed, until he had forgotten about it entirely. Now, even as he looked upon it, clasped tenderly in Jeff's hands it looked worse than he remembered, whether for the respite of attention or not, he didn't know.

"It's okay," he strove to placate, "barely even hurts any more." Or, at least, it didn't up until a minute ago. Now it almost seemed like it was making up for lost time and he was forced to grit his teeth.

Made hypersensitive by a culmination of pain and heightened awareness, he revelled sparingly in the glory of Jeff's touch, which in itself at that moment, felt like the worlds strongest Novocaine. He fooled himself into believing for an instant that Jeff felt the same way about him. That that contact was the embrace of a lover, as oppose to the desperate sadness of a friend. He never wanted Jeff to let go.

"Liar," Jeff contested morosely, before running him thumb ever so lightly across the back of Nick's hand that it made him shiver. Then, looking up timidly, as if the situation was all somehow over his head, and with imploring eyes, as if he was resisting the compulsion, only barely, to drag Nick to the nurses station there and then, kicking and screaming if necessary, said;

"Nick, if this doesn't start looking any better, _soon_, then we're going to have to show someone."

Even as resistant as he was to the idea, he couldn't fail but to notice the use of the plural, or be immeasurably pleased by it.

Any forms of physical violence, and fighting especially, were strictly prohibited at Dalton, punishable by expulsion. Which made Nick all the more unprepared to seek medical help unless he absolutely had to. His injury was a pretty distinctive one, its origin not easily lied away.

Jeff watched him uneasily, as if for any signs of protest, wishing there was something he could do, some way to make everything right again. There had to be one, but he was fresh out of vision and fresh out of ideas. It seemed too late for either ice or heat, and he couldn't imagine Nick willingly suffering him to bandage it, not with Sebastian still parading his 'untouchable' campaign around the school at least.

When it became clear that Nick was going to offer no affirmation or dissent, appearing instead to elect just to otherwise ignore the situation, Jeff let the matter rest. He released Nick's hand sadly, delicately; as if feared that by any sharp movement it would break.

Did Nick imagine the regret in his eyes? Did he perchance misplace it? Or was Jeff as loath to relinquish the contact as himself?

"Come on, let's make you into the next Einstein." The smile was forced, but Nick appreciated the effort. That was Jeff all over; always eager to please.

Jeff took to hand the pencil and urged Nick closer, until nothing but a hairsbreadth separated them, and the latter thanked his self control, for the air felt as if it had come alive; charged with a myriad of things left unsaid. It existed as a significant presence between them.

Jeff was the most patient tutor Nick had ever had. He explained every little thing he did and why he did it, maybe even ten times over, when prompted, and always with the same calm, demonstrative, until, that which Nick had 20 minutes ago deemed impossible, became fraction by fraction clearer.

He worked through everything in steps, compiling a set of instruction which could generally be applied to solve almost any equation. And he seemed to take inordinate pleasure in witnessing the light of recognition ignite in Nick's eyes. As if he too, shared in the glory of the revelation.

The first one, Nick simply watched, the second he actively participated in, and the third, he did on his own, marking Jeff's vigilance redundant. Jeff claimed that he was a natural, while Nick was more certain it was Jeff's un-rushed teaching style which paved the fast road to clarity. And in a matter of fifteen minutes was completed that which he had laboured over for an hour without knowing where to begin.

Their herculean effort persisted until Nick had under his belt no less than six completed sheets to hand in. Honestly, what would he do without this boy! If he was not so sure that he was completely intoxicated on Jeff's scent, and therefore, scant on inhibition, he would have hugged him.

"Pythagoras eat your heart out!" Jeff commended, grinning.

It was just as they were packing away in anticipation of fourth period gym, that Trent joined their party, appearing both put out and in the grips of some great injustice, persuasions completely contrary to his usual jocular nature.

He took Jeff's previous seat heavily and with clear agitation.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked with immediacy.

Trent had done him a great service and through no necessity of his own. No more was the sassy Warbler an intermittent presence in their lives, a friend of convenience. He was one of them, and they looked out for each other, even when no-one else would.

Jeff saw the scene through brooding eyes knowing what came next would not find the favour of any of them.

"So, Sebastian _did_ get called into the Principals office over what happened the other night. Turns out though, he got away scot free. They're calling it a; '_technicality of evidence_.'" He said the last part in bitterness, quoting empty air.

Nick looked simultaneously outraged and confused. _How?_ Blaine had been lying in a hospital bed for the past two nights. Where was the technicality?

"What technicality of evidence?" Jeff ventured with gritted teeth.

"That there wasn't any," scowled Trent sourly, his expression of a dark constitute that neither of them had witnessed before, and looked out of place on a face more readily made for humour. "They must have all closed in ranks or something. Had some story preconceived that they would all stick to, I don't know …"

Suddenly, the exchange Nick and Jeff had witnessed in the canteen took on a new clarity of meaning. Of course they had had something prepared. Sebastian had probably been sidestepping the retribution aspect of trouble since he was old enough to cause it, someone like him didn't get where he was by getting caught.

And then a new thought gripped them, a minor miscarriage of justice in comparison;

"But, why weren't we questioned?" Nick asked suddenly, while Jeff murmured his assent. They would have soon set the records straight, make no mistake. "They've got to know we were there too." You didn't just interview half the eye witnesses.

Trent shrugged distractedly, still in a black persuasion, and clearly having difficulty accepting the whole, 'scot free' element of the affair. He was not alone in that.

"Maybe they don't think we were directly involved." He reeled off hypothetical after hypothetical, but somehow none of them seemed to fit. "Which doesn't make much sense because then we would have nothing to hide, and therefore, be _more_ inclined to tell the truth, not having to cover our own backs. Or maybe they think we have loyalties to Sebastian – which I'm offended at even in thought by the way – which would conflict with our willingness to dump him in the frame, so they went one below us, thinking that if they were ever going to get the truth, it would be from the newer members, the ones who haven't had time to forge similar loyalties yet. Of course never realizing that it was in fact the other way around. Or, maybe we're just that inconsequential that we didn't even bare consideration. I don't know. But whatever the reason, count it as a blessing that we weren't," said Trent ominously.

"Why?" Jeff asked seriously.

"Because between the nice bruises Nick and Sebastian support, and the clear animosity that exists between us, it's like a walking, talking billboard for trouble. They question us and sooner or later someone will unintentionally let something slip about the fight, or our long walk home. Or something else about that night will come to light and bite us in the ass. Believe me, the thought of him getting away with what he did to Blaine, what he tried to do to Kurt, makes my skin crawl, but it's better that we weren't."  
>It felt like they were embroiled in some innovative, up-state murder rap. Unwilling accessories to a crime; forced to cover their tracks out of fear or reprisal, cautioned immorally against the act of saints.<p>

"You're right," Nick admitted reluctant, after a lengthy pause. Though, he wished he wasn't. He was through with skirted half truths.

"I take absolutely no pleasure in it," Trent said with moroseness. Being right in this case didn't seem like a victory, more like a defeat, for it meant that they were.

"I don't like it," muttered Jeff quietly. "What Sebastian did was horrible and wrong. Kurt and Blaine deserve justice, even if they don't get anything else."

He knew it was futile, but that was no barrier to ideal. He wanted to see Sebastian get his comeuppance, wanted to know the head Warbler wasn't as untouchable as he would like the world to think, didn't go through life without sparing thought for consequence. But every evidence before belied and beat down that hope. It was always everybody else who got hurt when Sebastian was involved.

To oppose the decision and vow for justice could mean Nick's expulsion. It was an impossible decision between two immoralities. But he knew he would do everything to safeguard Nick's future, and by extension the deceit of others, which marked him a liar himself. The conspiracies of the world! Welcome to life.

"I don't like it either," the two echoed in unison.

Dalton Academy exuded elitism and prestige, and sport marked no exception to the precedent, with reverently successful; football, soccer, hockey, lacross and basketball teams. Each of whom in their own rights, brought more acclaim to the school than all of its other organisations combined. A victory the Warblers were looking to usurp.

Gym also marked an opportunity to let off steam in the otherwise stringent environment, and indulge in some good-natured competition. To renounce decorum and stipulation for one hour, and let reckless excitability take hold. For even gentlemen were boys at heart.

Unless, of course, one was unfortunate enough to be forced to sit it out, to his high indignation.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Duval. That's my final answer," replied Coach McKarthy in no uncertain terms, to Nick's protests that he didn't even _need_ his hands to play soccer. Apparently the rough-shaven man preferred to avoid a lawsuit and redundancy for allowing a student to play injured.

If punching Sebastian didn't already form the bulk of the problem, then Nick would have gladly socked him one, just for the sheer satisfaction.

Reluctantly and with ill grace, he dropped his side of the argument and went to rejoin Jeff and Trent thoroughly dispirited. This was going to be fun, he grumbled.

However, his sour mood was transformed instantly into a fierce blush, when he realized that Jeff was, in fact, shirtless. Stumbling slightly in breathless retreat, he opted for taking the round about route towards the end stalls, thereby giving the blonde greater opportunity to recloathe. His self-restraint had always been commendable, but there were limits after all. Few people, were _that_ good. This could be a problem.

"Well?" Trent asked as soon as Nick rounded the corner, tying his laces in an obscure fashion that was entirely his own. Jeff attempted to smooth down the wildly tousled locks with his fingers as he turned to Nick with kind of quiet desperation in his heart.

"No," said Nick with simple disappointment; sitting down.

The air rang with the sounds of overbearing speech and the boisterous laughter of twenty boys in high spirits. Nick wished he part-took in their elation too, because right now, he felt pretty sour.

"That sucks!" groaned Jeff emphatically, slumping down beside him. And how did those two words _confirming_ the conviction of Nick's ill fortune, suddenly make him feel that maybe, things were not so bad?

Then, Jeff smiled; a mischievous expression, which lit his eyes alight with revelry;

"Never fear! We'll win the game for you; our _poor fallen prodigy_."

All to easily persuaded out of his bad humour by Jeff's covertly heartfelt antics, Nick relented his misery .

"You'd better," he joked, shoving the blonde playfully.

Trent simply shook his head, vicariously drunk on joy just watching them. People, somehow, never seem to recognise their own potency.

"Meanwhile, I set my sights a little lower," he said. "I simply aim to neither trip over my own feet or anyone else's." It was said with such an admirable amount of dignity that Nick and Jeff chuckled, before Trent continued a little sheepishly, "I think Daminen's still a little miffed that I made him miss that penalty. Guy can hold a grudge!"

Trent was a brilliant athlete and sportsman, unless he had to move further than five feet in either direction at a pace exceeding walking. There had never been a person so skilful and so concurrently uncoordinated. But that was Trent all over; a marriage of opposites. In soccer, as was this terms particular focus, he usually wound up in goal, albeit it to the teams overall credit.

By now, the teams automatically resolved into the same eleven players apiece each time, with infrequently invariant results. The victors were unwilling to sacrifice any of their key members to even up the playing field, meanwhile, the losers, made foolishly proud, determined to best them under their own steam, and would have rejected the offer anyway, and so they were at an impasse. Nick, Jeff and Trent, usually formed part of the victors, who today would be playing one man down.

Nick and Jeff were typically upfront, and constituted an unstoppable force of opposition. They were not conceited enough enough to believe they were any superior to their fellows – indeed in a two-aside match Ethan and Liam could have quite literally ran rings around them. No, the thing which gave them their edge was their ability to read each other, to get inside the others mind so completely that they could communicate a step-by-step play as effortlessly as breathing and by nothing more than the most infinitesimal glance. No-one could pre-empt them, and barely had time to react when the play was set into motion.

But Nick had to admit, watching Jeff now, as he compensated for Nick's absence as well as covering his own position, he was doing just fine on his own.

Nick observed him, always, out of the corner of his eye, even when he feigned to switch his gaze onto another player, or else pretended to have it called away by some small misgrievance on the pitch, which honestly, he much preferred to witness Jeff's reaction to than the actual event itself. And as he observed, he remembered, Jeff's every expression, every movement, every individual mannerism that made the blonde entirely his own. They were tributary memories of all that could be lost, if platonic feeling unrequited was confessed as something more.

The more aware of his feeling he became, the less likely was his conviction of hiding them. Already he had began to second guess his actions, hone his suspicions of others suspicions. Part of him wished that ignorance could have just remained and endured, at the sacrifice of only ever calling Jeff the closest of friends. For friendship was safe, coveted, and brilliant in its own right. Friendship meant that Jeff would stay, while feeling might succeed in nothing more than driving him away.

And the other part of him rebuked that very cowardice, for he had been given the opportunity of a lifetime, and it rung true of sacrilege to squander it, or even wish it away.

Each time Jeff scored and threw up his hands in a celebratory gesture, his eyes would find Nick's, as if it was his approval alone, he sought, even as the rest of the team converged upon him. That had to mean something, right? _Right_?

Tall and thin, Jeff was the perfect sprinter. His long-legged strides exceeded those of his fellows by a considerable ratio each time. He was powerful, graceful and quick too, and he left Nick in awe.

Nick meanwhile, found his niche in agility. His ability to dart and weave in-between players, attaining angles of precision which should have been impossible in relieving them of their possession of the ball, and before they even wholly appreciated what had happened. Even inconsiderate height could work as an advantage if employed shrewdly. Light upon his feet, he astounded Jeff in return, who was more inclined towards clumsiness when his course turned convoluted.

Nick worked to master his excitement, which was quickly getting out of hand, to slow the frantic pulsations of his heart before it imploded, to suffocate his breathless gasps, which would make anyone think he had just played an hour in 80 degree heat, rather than having sat and performed actions no more strenuous than occasionally stretching out his legs. It was as if his life was tied up with game; every victory, every pain, transformed into something personal, something entirely orientated towards Jeff and himself. The strain was almost too much to bare.

Surely, just watching Jeff play shouldn't have so great an affect on him, should it?

As he sat, consumed by nervous agitation, he relived every single exchange that had ever passed between them; analysing it, dissecting it and reinterpreting it to mean something beyond what it always was.

But the problem was, that once an idea or notion found inception, even in the absence of general acknowledgement, evidence could always be secured to supplement and support it, indiscriminate as to whether the evidence was really there to be descried or formed some figment of imagination. Reinterpretation was just our own wants and desires imposed on a series of events which were never ambiguous in the first place.

With brand new eyes, he perceived a thousand occasions of note, which could stand as grounds for evidence that Jeff incontrovertibly harboured the same feelings; unrecognised, for Nick, just wanting of revelation. But yet, even that certainty seemed too much to gamble with.

There had to be some way of ascertaining, some sort of … test, for lack of a subtler term, with a clear yes or no definitive, which at the same time practised confidentiality. But he drew a blank.

Nick thought that this changed everything, when really, nothing had altered. Revelation had simply given a name to something that had always been there unrecognised. A christening of his innermost feeling.

Love should feel like the world had stopped moving, and only started up again for you, that gravity ceased to matter, because it was not that which anchored you to the earth any longer, it was _them_, and they anchored you to their heart. Love should feel like a high of elation, from which you would never come down. And while to Nick, it did, and so much more besides, that joy was tarnished, and his affection, by plenty enough, charged unsavoury.

_Gay_ …

It made no sense. While Blaine and Kurt were some of the best friends he had ever had, and their orientation matter nothing to him; a characteristic as commonplace as hair colour, or how many freckles a person had upon their face, it was never a path he would have envisioned his own life taking.

Weren't you supposed to know, or at least, have some sort of inkling? From as far as he could surmise it; Blaine and Kurt had always known, known there was something inside them that made them different, made them remarkable. Why, therefore, hadn't he? Surely this thing couldn't just come out of the blue?

Then again, wasn't he testament to the fact that it could?

It made him feel unnatural, and he didn't know why. Out of touch with himself, as if his whole life before had been a lie he had not know he was living. It was easier to accept in others, those thing which we would lynch ourselves for.

The name itself was a stereotype, so final and admittedly frightening. A life-style choice, which in its uncomfortable inception seemed more like a life sentence.

He had had girlfriends before, in the past, though his own history was somewhat less complex than many he knew. He had convinced himself that he was looking for 'the one' as oppose to the 'one right now.' But now, that just seemed like a convenient lie, a shroud of credible normalcy to hide behind. Because none of them made him feel how Jeff made him feel, and he did it without even trying.

It was what his feelings implied which scared him, not those feelings themselves. _They_ were unbelievable. He never knew he could hold within him, such an epitome affection for any one single person, though it was true enough that no living soul with a heart could ever take a dislike to Jeff. They inspired within him chivalry, protectiveness and a sense of nobleness, making him better than himself.

He wished he could love Jeff, just like any other person who finds that special someone with whom they want to share the rest of their lives. In his heart, he could, in the judgement-free environment of Dalton, with its mantra of acceptance of all, he could. But, what of the outside world?

What of their parents; their golden aspirations of pretty wives and grandchildren? What then? How did you tell society you would not bow, and still retain your standing?

It was one of those things which should be personal, but seemed also to effect everyone else around you to varying degrees. A discordant cacophony, where the beginning could not be disentangled from the end; too painful to listen to, too boisterous to ignore.

Could he bare the rejection if Jeff didn't feel the same way? Alternatively, could he live with the guilt of knowing he had opened Jeff up to this crushing uncertainty if he did? It was enough to drive anyone to distraction.

The match was concluded and Jeff and Trent's team victorious as always.

Jeff bounded over to him with all the excitement of a sugar high five year old, grinning wildly. Nick laughed at his typical post-match euphoria, enjoying his every moment of happiness as he reached out to halt him, before he made a painful acquaintance with the wall.

"Told you we'd win for you!" he cried gleefully; a live-wire beneath Nick's touch.

"Never doubted you for a second," Nick enthused back, grinning. "Nice tackle, by the way, poor Curtis didn't know what had hit him!" Jeff threw back his head and laughed, not at all unkindly.

"I know. I feel kinda bad; he looked so confused. Did you see me outstrip Cameron and Carl? They thought that they could pin me easily, but they're always so _predictable_." He said it like what they had offered in challenge was disappointing. "So I knew automatically that Cameron was going to try and head me off, while Carl tripped me from behind. But what _they_ didn't know was that I was holding back; giving them a false sense of security! And then, when they thought they thought they had me cornered …"

It all happened so fast that Nick just barely had time to react, which didn't leave much chance for notions of self-preservation.

From somewhere in the distance, it seemed, though it couldn't have been more than twenty meters, a shout went up which called his attention immediately;

"_Watch out!_"

Therein he was trapped in one long extension of a moment, where seconds assumed the characteristics of minutes, and instantaneous thought could take a life-age.

Through the air hurtled, at great speed, the rigid sphere of a ball, which a few of the boys had been passing between each other across the way, suddenly gone astray. And the trajectory of the projectile bore it unerringly towards the space of time Jeff occupied, unawares.

Without hesitation, Nick threw up his hands. Anything to deflect the rogue missile. He counted one, two seconds before it hit.

The explosion of agony which erupted throughout the whole length of his arm almost caused him to black out, and he staggered forcefully, pleading with himself neither to throw up or lose consciousness. When did a Soccer ball taken on the physical mass of a tanker?

He doubled over, breathing hard as tears forced their way out of the corners of his eyes. He cradled his right hand protectively against his chest, as if the proximity to his heart would somehow work to lessen the pain. Every muscle in his body quivered as the assault continued unabated in undulations of fresh agony. He saw stars.

He_ needed_ to reassure himself that Jeff was okay. In comparison to that potential, his own suffering mattered none.

He could hear voices all around him, but most made little sense, too full of shock and panic to communicate anything. And then he heard Jeff's, and focused on its sound to the obsolescence of all else.

"Nick! Nick, are you okay?" and then quieter, but no less desperate, "hey, talk to me, please."

Strong and gentle arms slipped around his back, holding him close, and he sank into their embrace; a sphere of warmth and comfort which effectively deadened the pain.

And, as it turned out, Nick had never needed the aid of a test or definitive strategy, because in that moment, he knew. The best things were always worth the pain.

Jeff cradled Nick's quailing form in his arms, as the brunette rode out the waves of agony in silence. Nineteen figures; united in their shock, surrounded them, and though though their mouths gaped like fish suffocating upon the land, and their hands waved with wild gesticulations, to Jeff, it was as if the world around him had been muted, for he heard nothing but the sounds of Nick's ragged breath. Saw nothing but the colour of distress.

Nick was hurt, and that was all that mattered. He had thrown himself in front of Jeff to prevent the same fate. Taken the prodical bullet as it were; the stupid, heroic _fool_.

And then, Coach McKarthy pushed his way to the vanguard of the ranks, took one look at their supporting embrace, and ordered Nick straight to the nurses station. He handed them a permission slip to be given into their next class, excusing their absence.

Nick grew even more horrifically pallid with the effort of walking, and as he panted his skin grew damp with a sheen of perspiration, as if every subsequent step was one ask too great to perform.

Jeff watched him with fretful concern, agonising over his condition. Nick's left arm was slung around his neck as he supported the greater portion of his weight. The brunette stumbled as if drunk, unable to adequately concentrate upon the menial task of placing one foot in front of the other. His posture was rigid, and even as he fought to hide the pain, his eyes betrayed it.

All the while, Jeff maintained a steady stream of reassurances and nonsensical phrases, said more for their sound that their meaning, for Nick calmed to his voice, or at the very least, seemed to listen. His enduring silence daunted Jeff to no end, and he imagined Nick trapped in a world of pain, marked _unable_ to speak by its dominion. That thought only urged him to hold Nick tighter, to combat all that which opposed his freedom.

The time was still within fourth period and so the corridors were deserted, meaning that their journey from the sports hall to the nurses station was made in expedient fashion, and without undue hazard, but that didn't stop it feeling like forever. Jeff half expected the corridor down which they were travelling to elongate before his eyes, the way it would sometimes happen on cartoons, when situation decided to be the antagonist of desperation.

So focused was he on the way; on constructing a fictitious explanation to satisfy the matrons professional curiosity, which lay as close to the truth as possible to secure Nick the specific aid he needed, and as far away from it as anything could be that wasn't an outright lie; on Nick's physical condition itself, whether it had suffered improvement or deterioration, or whether that was just wishful or morbid thinking, that he almost missed the sound of Nick's voice, when he first broke his silence.

It was weak, encumbered and barely above a whisper, and yet, it communicated concern so effectively it was astounding;

"Jeff? You alright?" Nick craned his neck in an awkward fashion, the better to assess the blondes face from where his head rested against Jeff's shoulder, determined to descry a lie if Jeff thought to offer one in appeasement. He didn't want his conscience appeased, he wanted the truth.

"Am I okay?" Jeff repeated incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. This boy would be the death of him, he really would!

"Nick, _are_ you okay?" He wanted to sound reprimanding, to urge Nick to have some sense of self-protection, but honestly he was just so overcome with emotion to hear Nick speak, that any sternness was rendered obsolete.

"I've been better," Nick joked weakly. "'Least now we're even," he offered Jeff what would have been a winning smile if it was not drawn by pain.

"What?" Jeff scoffed, "I help you with maths homework, you _hurl_ yourself in front of me to deflect a projectile which you could have just pulled me out of the way of? Wow, yeah. Debt settled." He couldn't help his sarcastic tone, and Nick delicately raised an eyebrow at the pointedly sassy attitude which was so reminiscent of Trent's. Nick Duval was unbelievable, in the very best and worst of senses.

"I couldn't stand back and watch you get hit," Nick admitted with solemn honesty, "just like you couldn't bring yourself to believe that what happened was my fault, even though I told you myself it was." The effort it demanded to speak so extendedly almost caused Nick to swoon, and as Jeff steadied him, he was forcefully reminded of the acuteness of their current circumstances, when he would have given anything to deny them. They were almost there, he just had to keep Nick talking and partially distracted from the overwhelming pain a little while longer.

"That's emotional blackmail!" Jeff charged with a laugh.

"That's fact," Nick remonstrated with docility and a half-hearted wink.

Neither one of them relished a trip to the matron; harbouring a healthy aversion to any sort of medical procedure. But Jeff was glad that Nick didn't contest the movement, for this was one argument he was never going to win. Even if Jeff had to resort to bodily force and _drag_ him there, he would. They had put this off for far too long already, and look where procrastination had got them.

The matron; Eloise, clucked her tongue in concern at their tangent effort, and ushered them quickly into her sanctuary. She was the late forties, mothering type; no children of her own to speak, but with an over-abundance of love owed to humanity at a whole which necessitated exercise and compelled her to the compassionate profession. Her features were unrefined and kindly, streaks of silver augmented the iron grey shade of her hair at the temple.

Jeff eased Nick gently down onto one of the hard, adjustable beds, his hand lingering upon his shoulder, a calming touch. Nick lay still, breathing heavily, eyes closed. His skin boasted an unpleasant green tincture, and beneath that a striking pallor, making it appear translucent, moist with a thin sheen of sweat. Everything about him exuded indignant dissatisfaction, which was an impressive feat given his current predicament, clearly not impressed at having been forced to play the patient in this scenario.

"What happened to you, honey?" Eloise enquired with all the concern of a mother for her child, strolling forwards. Her manner had a way of putting you at ease.

Jeff quickly supplied his fictitious account of how Nick had attained the injury in the first instance; an off-centre punch, thrown in boxing club – no need to mention that that particular organisation had disbanded some 15 months prior – which initially, they had thought nothing of, but which had only gotten worse the longer it was left unattended, and had further been exacerbated by an act of endearing heroism, though he spoke only of the act, the endearing heroism he left to thought.

And as he recited the careful half-truths, he subconsciously traced circles onto Nick's shoulders, knowing that Nick would be focusing solely upon the contact.

The way he looked would have moved even the most stone hearted to sympathy, and it brought out a strong instinct of protectiveness in Jeff, the likes of which he had never experienced before. It made him so sure that everything he didn't know was right, and that feeling in its own merit outweighed years of medical practice when it came to knowing what was best for Nick. He just wanted to hold him and never surrender; never let the world ravage him. And Nick looked at him to make everything go away, knowing just how much Jeff wished he could.

Mumbling fretfully about the worlds preoccupation with dangerous sports and self-destructive pass-times, Eloise turned kindly to Jeff;

"You may go back to class now. Mr. Duval will be fine with me." It was meant as a reassurance, but they only perceived it as a threat. They didn't want to be separated; not again, and especially, not now.

"NO!"

Neither were certain whose voice was raised first, or loudest; or who it was who grabbed the others hand; or whether it all happened in symmetry, but together, they were determined. And more than that, unyielding.

"I want to stay," said Jeff firmly, asking without honestly seeking permission. Proposing the unswayable in a method more polite than demanding, but with no less authority.

"I want him to stay," Nick reiterated, using his leverage as the unwilling patient. And who could deny his current unfortunate state anything, especially when it was clear what was the only thing quelling his resistance?

Eloise surveyed them with a knowing air that made Jeff feel distinctly uncomfortable, despite her homely presence. It was as if her gaze penetrated a place beyond his physical self, and perceived the swirling ambiance of his soul beneath. What did she second guess? What did she see in their friendship? His fingers interlocked with Nick's, he forced himself not to care, so long as whatever she thought she saw permitted him to remain at Nick's side. After a few moments of indecision, she relented;

"Very well. You may stay." She smiled again, as if something had lifted up her heart and set it soaring to heights even greater than before. "Try and keep his calm as I examine him." And then to Nick, with the most earnest regret he had ever heard; "this may be painful and a little unpleasant." Nick cringed away from what was to come, he had fulfilled his quota of both, already.

Jeff perched obediently upon the edge of the hollow, metal frame, Nick's hand still grasped in his tightly. He marvelled at how simultaneously hot and cold their skin felt against each other, almost as if their bodies emanated a charge, to which they had always been ignorant, and now their contact formed a port of current between two pylons. It was strange and glorious and distracting, so he pushed it away, focusing his attention, unabridged, on Nick.

The brunette buried his face into Jeff's shoulder, like a nervous puppy which shied away from something that had previously startled it, confirming Jeff's conviction that he had indeed earlier, been lying as to the extent of the pain. What was Jeff go to _do_ with him? If his physical state wasn't already so precarious, Jeff would have forcefully shaken some sense into him. Instead Jeff just wrapped his arm around his back and held him.

Because nothing can frustrate a person quite so effectively as the blatant self-disregaurd of a loved one.

Eloise carefully manipulated Nick's fingers – in much the same fashion Jeff had that cold night which felt like years ago – looking dissatisfied, meanwhile, Nick hissed and whined in a way that broke Jeff's heart, too rife with discomfort to muster anything close to so-called manly stoicism. One should never be afraid of showing weakness, because, in deficit, it predisposed great strength.

All the while, Jeff sought to comfort him, in word and in gesture, feeling something evolve within him. Vague and infirm, an impression still yet to take shape.

She released Nick's hand, concern evident, her tone equally mother and apologetic;

"Nothing is broken," she first reassured gently, and the relief in the room was palpable, especially emanating from Jeff. It would have just been Nick all over to bust up his hand defending Kurt and Blaine, and then further break it by protecting Jeff. In the days of King Arthur, Nick would have definitely been a knight.

"But it will have to be wrapped. The knuckles need to be kept immobilised for a few days to give the swelling chance to subside, as it is this which is causing you the majority of the pain. I'll also prescribe you some painkillers and an anti-inflammatory, which should do the trick. All things considered, you've been quite lucky. We'll have you fixed up again in no time." She patted his knee in a concurrently sympathetic and bracing manner, before going to collect the various necessary oddments.

It was evident from Nick's expression that he didn't account himself in the company of luck, rather that he thought his worst fear realized. Jeff marvelled with bitter scorn, how Sebastian, even in disgrace, still managed to dictate their lives. Like a consistently sarky devil-upon-the-shoulder.

"Suck it up," Jeff whispered softly, but in no uncertain terms, burying his face in Nick's hair for a moment, "It's for your own good."

Nick mumbled an unintelligible retort, and Jeff chuckled, because ill humour was still better than silence.

They left the nurses station some thirty-five minutes later, with Nick supporting a crisp, white bandage, and enough painkillers to tranquillize a horse; waiting upon the first dose to take effect.

"It's not fair," he felt was his duty to remind Jeff for the umpteenth time since they had left the nurses confines. Jeff just rolled his eyes, walking close by Nick's side. He didn't really need the support, but Jeff needed the proximity as they made their way to fifth period, so they both pretended instead that he did. They had to hand in their slip of formal excuse.

"Why's I.T on the _third_ floor anyway? Who in their right mind wants to trek up six flights of stairs last lesson of the day? … Bet Sebastian's going to have a field day with this. Stupid, over-tall, arrogant, egotistical …" Nick went on unhappily calling Sebastian every unflattering adjective he could think of or coin in the spur of the moment. Because nothing made one feel better quite like blaming Sebastian for your every misfortune.

"Why does it have to be so _white_? Can't they make bandages skin-toned? … Why do we even have to present the note? Won't they just guess that we're absent when we don't turn up?"

It was with exceptional difficulty that Jeff managed to maintain a straight face throughout. Nick was usually so easy-going, and though his qualms originated from serious enough points of inception, his deliverance marked each laughable. Some, Jeff supplied answers for, which Nick would only take further offence at anyway. But for the most part, he just let each pass over his head.

Depositing Nick upon one of the plush, studded-leather armchairs, he knocked politely on the door of room 305, and waited to be granted admittance.

He entered to the expectant gazes of a good half of their gym class, and he carefully avoided catching any of their eyes, while simultaneously seeking Trent in the crowd, and concentrating on delivering their pass to a decidedly unamused looking Mr. Lightfoot, whose pet hate was tardiness.

His response was nothing more than a petulant grunt, and then Jeff was dismissed. Somehow, he could not find it within himself to lament missing the tedious lesson.

Finally picking Trent out, he held up his hand discreetly in the universal affirmative signal that everything was okay, smiling when he saw Trent visibly relax.

"It's not fair," Nick reiterated as soon as Jeff moved into hearing distance. The blonde just laughed as Nick continued to look sulky.

"Ooooo, you're such a grump when you're in pain," Jeff teased lightly, helping Nick to his feet, "you're just lucky its such an oddly endearing quality."

"What am I going to to do?" Nick asked morosely.

To his surprise, Jeff's mischievous smile made a reappearance;

"I have the perfect solution."

Collecting dust in his draw was a single pair of fingerless gloves, remnants of a Freshman phase which he couldn't bare to part with, even after he had gotten rid of their fellows. Navy blue and trimmed with red, they matched the Dalton uniform perfectly, given as the first ever Christmas present from Nick himself.

~ * … * ~

Trent was not looking forward to this, and wasn't that alone testament to how things had changed, when last year Warbler rehearsal had been the highlight of his day. Now he sat alone, upon the unmanned front of rebellion, cursing Nick and Jeff's absence, and feeling all too insignificant.

He was on edge. This would mark the first extended interaction between himself, Nick and Sebastian in the aftermath of their strongly worded exchange, and resentment forced accord – anxiety didn't even begin to cover it.

If Sebastian's behaviour this morning bore anything of precognition, it was that their scornful co-operation had done nothing to satisfy his coolly cantankerous temperament and eternal ill humour. Rather, it had seemed only to make him all the more insufferable. And wasn't that a feat of great astound.

Would the silver-tongued adder betray hint of their agreement? Would his innuendo's arouse Jeff to suspicion, even as they had fought so hard to protect him? Would he seek to secure further destruction of everything around him to sate his own disillusionment? This was Sebastian's domain, and each one of them were trespassers. While the dragon lay sleeping, Trent wasn't foolish enough to provoke it.

Waiting for their _glorious leader_ to put in an appearance, Trent strove to find something; _anything_ with which to distract his attention away from his current state of nervous agitation.

His wandering gaze fell upon Luke; wild-haired and charming smiled, seated at the other end of the couch. He was further enough away that another two bodies could comfortably occupy the void between them, and close enough that a conversation could be struck up and held without undue difficulty. Nowadays, they always seemed to sit in the same arrangement of bodies, though without a clear definitive why.

Luke was one of the few remaining original Warblers, the silent, reserved type, who let every pent up feeling free in song, released momentarily of inhibition. He was calm mannered and level headed, and upon the night of the attack, he had formed part of a secondary lost party – move covert than Trent's own – who had feigned empty laughter for fear that no real would come. Even without Nick and Jeff, Trent thought for a second that maybe he wasn't as alone in this as he had first believed …

Subtly inclining his posture towards the curly-haired Warbler, he asked in a warm, benign tone, the first thing he could think of enquiring, and certainly the most prestigious and anticipated of the Warblers many traditions;

"So, when do you think the next solo auditions will be? Reckon you're in with a shot?"

And for all his effort, Trent received in return, a non-committal shrug, which could barely pass for any recognisable form of communication, and was certainly an unworthy reply. Dispirited he fell once again into uneasy silence. No, he was definitely as alone in this as he had initially thought. That was the problem; people just didn't talk any more.

Mercifully, the rest of their congregation began to arrive in drips and gushes. He hadn't even realized how early he was; the drawbacks of preoccupation.

And when Nick and Jeff walked into the room his relief was so overwhelming that he could have hugged Luke and his sullen expression, out of the sheer joy at not having to spend the next two hours of his life with that and Sebastian for company, alone.

It therefore necessitated a few additional seconds for him to register Nick's slightly unsteady gait, his dreamily vacant expression, and just how close Jeff actually stuck to his side, as if bonded by invisible chords, and with something something that could only be described as complete adoration, in his eyes.

Trent smirked, it seemed like somebody was a little too elevated on the pain pills. And somehow, the ability to laugh at some unpredicted event of its aftermath, made the whole incident seem less traumatic.

Though, amusement aside, if he had been counting upon Nick's presence at all, it had been in a slightly more lucid state than his current, to muster then ranks of their unified force. Now he just felt incredibly exposed, even more than before; a lone man foolishly waving a red sheet before the eyes of a heard of tempestuous bulls and maintaining his act was one of bravery.

Well, since there was no changing the circumstances, there was little to be gained in griping about it. At least this new turn of events would make the commune more bearable for one of them.

They took the available spaces next to him in a clumsy and awkward fashion, Jeff looking more than a little sheepish, meanwhile, Nick in comparison simply beamed at every-one in the room, undeterred by the fact that his pleasantry was not reciprocated. Maybe it was too late to rethink the whole bring-your-high-best-friend-to-Warbler-rehersal angle.

"What happened to you?" Trent asked, raising an eyebrow. Nick just giggled – actually giggled. The sassy Warbler seriously considered the merits of carrying a camcorder religiously just on that moment alone. He wasn't a blackmailing kind of guy, but some moments were just too golden not to have on tape.

"The painkillers the nurse gave him may have worked a little better than any of us anticipated," Jeff admitted a little guiltily, as Nick lay his head upon the blondes shoulder in an adorable movement. "I'll have to make sure he halves the dose in future. It should wear off after a couple of hours though," he contained his own mirth with difficulty as he wrapped an arm around the brunettes waist.

Trent immediately had visions of Nick as the affectionate drunk.

"Everything's all warm and fuzzy," Nick supplied with a shiver, and then in a hushed tone, as if confiding some great secret; "It's really weird."

"I'll bet," Trent agreed, chuckling, while Jeff just looked amusedly long-suffering.

And then, as Nick flourished his hands in some obscure gesture neither one of them could find meaning in, Trent noticed the unusual accessory.

"Nice gloves," he commented, looking at Jeff questioningly, because he distinctly remembered those: worn religiously by the blonde, even in the summer of Freshman year. He was sure Jeff had gave up ownership of all their likes the year after, apparently though, these specific pair had been salvaged.

"Yeah," Nick agreed fondly, burrowing deeper into Jeff's shoulder. Jeff just shrugged and refused to elaborate.

Well, this meeting was either going to be incredibly interesting or a waking nightmare.

Sebastian arrived at precisely five-thirty sharp. His presence plunging the already silent room into a deeper, more furtive muteness. Even to a casual observer, his authority would be perceived as absolute; more drill sergeant than show choir head, though his silky tones held more weight than similar rough cadences could ever possess. He was like a minor league dictator.

Inherently selfish, he aspired to project his malcontent onto the world around him, because, after all, misery loved company, and discord thrived upon it. God, he was unbearable.

The glare he levelled at Trent told the sassy Warbler that he wasn't nearly through toying with them yet, not by a long shot. Trent felt himself pale, but he glared back determinedly, it would take more than the malicious mind of Sebastian Smythe to subdue him. What he didn't like, however, was the way his eyes slipped onto Nick and Jeff, both of whom remained blissfully oblivious to the hostile exchange, filled with primal and envious hunger, which bestowed to him a dangerous expression. No, Trent didn't like that at all. He had never once seen Sebastian lose any semblance of control, but he feared that that was the closest he had ever come to it.

In typical Sebastian fashion, however, he clawed back the lost composure in a instant. But Trent's guard was up. Whatever he held in mind for them didn't bode well.

Speaking to the room at large, with simultaneous derision and smugness, Sebastian said to the waiting crowd:

"Last time, more than a few of you were off-key. It was like listening to nails being scraped across a chalkboard; I was embarrassed for you. Luke, you came in too early on the fourth bar. Joel, your harmony is C not A. Jeff, you were completely out of time with the beats. Nick, your effort was menial, I heard your harmony once throughout the entire song. Trent, you were completely out of tune. Jack, I don't even know why you bother coming."

But, of course, Sebastian was perfect, thought Trent bitterly. This was how every Warbler meeting began now; with Sebastian tearing them down, and they listening to the critique of their faults with suitable admonishment. The guy had a serious superiority complex.

"So, today, we're going to practice; '_I Want You Back_,' until I'm satisfied, and I don't care if it takes until midnight. No-one leaves this room until I say so."

This was met with a hushed muttering. Sebastian wasn't kidding, either. Late-finish practices were becoming a painfully regular occurrence. Their record low so far had been winning liberty at 10pm, and no-one was particularly eager to try for a new personal best.

The room became abruptly silent again as Sebastian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, indicating impatience.

"And due to our safe victory over the New Directions," he paused for a prompted impromptu applause that Trent scowled heartily at. "We need a second song for Regionals …"

Just last year, the floor would have been subsequently opened to suggestions, but those times of equality were spent. Now, no-one even presumed to speak, to even raise their heads – they just continued to stare blankly at Sebastian or the floor, as was their preference – waiting for him to make the call; silencing their own opinions. It was not meant to be like this. Where was the boy who could have charmed water into wine?

"So, I've chosen; _Billie Jean_. There are two solo's available, besides my own, of course. Open auditions, however will not be necessary," he all but purred, "for I nominate Nick and Trent. _Congratulations_." The ambiguity in that statement was chocking.

The other Warblers applauded stoically, too well accustomed to the regiment of things as to render even conscious awareness obsolete. This was what oppression must be like, thought Trent; an existence, because life was the by-product of hope.

Nick grinned exuberantly, while Trent struggled to work his features into some semblance of faux gratitude, which left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had never been one for keeping up appearances. Why did, every day, some portion of his life become an act, to pander to the arrogance of Sebastian?

It wasn't a victory as it should have been; securing his first solo – instead it was an acting reminder and a threat; that speaking out would not go unpunished, that privileges could be retracted as easily as they were instated. That Sebastian would _always_ have the last laugh.

It had never been clearer that they were fighting a losing battle; pushing against the tide in a futile effort to right the world, which was too far gone.

At Sebastian's indication, they expeditiously and without word took up their positions; Nick and Trent of the shorter stature, in the front row, Jeff in the second, and Flint in the third. Sebastian out in front, set apart from them all; leader, idol, tyrant.

Out of the corner of his eye, Trent cast Nick a concerned glance, where he stood, swaying ever so minutely … if Sebastian was ever searching for anything to penalize them for. Apparently Jeff harboured the same concerns, for when he met Trent's eye, there was a prominent unease in the distraction of his gaze, and an indication of fierce protection which Trent had never perceived before; equally startling and endearing.

As it turned out, their anxieties were unfounded, for Nick, giddy on prescription painkillers sung as capably as Nick lucid, though perhaps with a little more ambition. Vaguely they hoped that their own talents were as transferable, somehow, not keen to trial the hypothesis. It seemed that for one rare occasion, fate smiled down upon them.

Flint came in first with the base beat, flanked by Joel, Matthew and Christopher, a fifth above, diversifying the percussion.

Counting eight bars; Nick, Jeff, Trent, Thad, Jack and John joined their voices to the foray; carrying the main body melody of the song, matching their timing with the beats. An acapella choir as much about listening as the singing itself.

Then came Sebastian with a small musical prologue of his own devise; subtle and charming, everything which in real life, he was not, which closed with the introduction harmonies of Luke, Andrew and Theo, and then the song began:

_When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around_

_Those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd._

_But someone picked you from the bunch; one glance was all it took_

_And now it's much too late for me to take a second look._

_Oh baby give me one more chance _

_**To show you that I love you **_(Nick, Jeff, Trent and Thad echoed)

_Wont you please let me __**back in your heart.**_

_Oh darling I was blind to let you go_

_**To let you go, baby.**_

_But now since I'see you in his arms_

_**I want you back.**_

Dis-truth shouldn't masquerade as a song, but yet it did. A song should reveal the hopes, venerability, emotions and temperament of the singer; the most infinitesimal glance into a soul, a single moment of their lives shared with the company of friends and strangers alike. A song was meant to be sincere, but Sebastian desecrated even that sanctity, because the persona he presented was a stranger to himself.

It took sixteen separate renditions before Sebastian was satisfied, though they were perfect the first time. And Trent cursed him as a sadist. But even 'perfect' was a relative term nowadays; though Sebastian pushed them, harder than Wes or David ever had – not that they initially thought that such a feat was possible – Wes had safeguarded their respect and above all; loyalty, while what Sebastian had was a mere shadow of both. The Warblers under Sebastian on their best day, could not match the Warblers under Wes on their most mediocre, and that was the truth.

They trudged from the unofficial meeting room with sore throats and tired hearts, for the most part, even more dispirited for attending rehearsal at all. Before, participation in the Warblers had been a free election; a privilege, an honour, as had been defection also. But at that time, no-one had ever _wanted_ to leave. Now, under Sebastian's leadership, no one _could_.

Nick was slightly more lucid, or at least, more composed as the three made their way back to the dormitories. He was observant enough anyway, to notice something in Jeff's demeanour to which Trent had been and would have remained to be oblivious too.

"What s'matter?" Nick asked him softly, almost tenderly, looking at Jeff with affected, doleful eyes.

"It's nothing," the blonde dismissed, with the best effort of sounding off-hand, and smiling in a would be reassuring fashion that neither of them honestly bought into. Nick pressed sadly;

"Tell me, please?" And he employed the affectionately termed 'puppy dog expression' which was so usually Jeff's trick against him, to full and devastating effect. Trent swore then and there to do all he could to master it, because that look was akin to a skeleton key; without substance and undetectable.

As Nick knew he would, Jeff relented, with a sigh that made him sound like he bore all the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

"It just … worries me. That out of everyone, Sebastian chose you two for solo's, especially after what happened the other night, especially after we know he's not one to let grudges lie. I just can't figure out his motive, even though I know there's something more malicious in it. And it just worries me. I don't want to see either of you get hurt again." His speech brought to mind a rabbit in the headlights; too incapacitated by fear and confusion to save itself. Oh how close to the truth he meandered without even realizing it.

Nick somehow managed to fold himself into Jeff's side, while continuing forward motion, immediately robbing the blondes distress of all its gusto.

"Jeffy," and didn't the use of such a nickname earn him raised eyebrows from both parties. "You worry too much!" he teased lightly, "It's probably nothing more sinister than the whole; keep-your-friends-close-but-your-enemies-closer, thing."

Apparently the warm and fuzzy haze which surrounded Nick like an aura, also made lying to a best friend easier, because Trent couldn't have done it so convincingly, and he was sure that with more vivid realism, Nick couldn't have either. That being the case, Sebastian must feel continually euphoric.

But instead of being entirely placated, Jeff's tone changed, become mournful;

"Then … how come I didn't get a solo? I spoke out against him the same as you two." Because everybody longed for that elusive first solo, and no-one had been waiting longer than Jeff.

When Nick didn't seem able to supply a suitable answer, Trent confided with residual bitterness;

"When you eventually get your solo, Jeff, you want to win it, not get it handed to you by Sebastian. Because there's no glory in it; believe me."

After a moment, Jeff nodded reluctantly, conceding the point.

Trent had once thought he would do anything for a solo; now he realized that he had been wrong. Because circumstances permitting, he would have given it up in an instant. It didn't measure up to what it had always professed itself to be, it was just another means of control, another way for Sebastian to assert his dominance over them all.

The web was closing in around them, and they were flies, entangled, fixed in the hungry sights of a spider.

~ * … * ~

The music was loud, the company was overbearing, the air was ripe with the tang of too many hot bodies sharing a confined space, and the drinks were flowing. Like some sultry, lustful creature, Scandals came alive when the world descended into night.

He occupied his usual place at the bar; all the better vantage to match the bitter drug of choice to the whims of his mood. He was Samuel Anderson to strangers and acquaintances alike; a false identity for a false life. He was school boy in nothing but age.

The compulsive hunt was often descried as predatory, for after all, lust was a primal hunger. And while Sebastian secretly longed for something better, something _meaningful_, he knew this was his lot in life, and so, he revelled in it; pretending the patrons of each intimate dance loved him, as much as the one person who actually mattered, would not. But tonight, he didn't want to feel good about himself, so he turned each willing face away; biting and callous.

So when a 400lb bull-elephant of a man with craggy features, grey lips, terrible acne and a rapidly receding hairline, who had been watching him all night, approached, he spared no tact in his declination.

Before the ugly stranger even had opportunity to speak, Sebastian shot him down scornfully, without even sparing him a glance;

"No way." The stranger halted his shuffling walk and looked at Sebastian with wonderfully sensitive eyes, which quickly filled and overflowed with water as the Warbler continued speaking; "Drop 300lb, try recostructive surgery and astringent, then come back and talk to me. Or better yet, do the world a favour and crawl back into the sewers, because no-one is going to love you looking like that."

Sebastian was disgusted to hear the thing sniffle as it shuffled away. Though it was impossible to extract blood from a stone, tears, it seemed, yielded more easily. Scandals must really be lowering its standards.

He threw back the rest of his drink in one, calling for another, which quickly chased down its predecessor, making his throat burn. He knew he would regret it in the morning, but right now he felt reckless; out of control. The hangovers were getting harder and harder to shake.

_Hospital … Surgery_. The forceful reality of both terms had swirled, entwined and grown disproportionately in his mind throughout the day, until he had nowhere left to escape, and nowhere else to run. He couldn't even remember where the bright idea to put rock salt into the slushy had found its origin. Motivated jealousy, perhaps? All he had known was that, he wanted to make Kurt hurt, in the same manner that seeing him and Blaine together made his eyes _burn_.

He knew he had no claim on Blaine, but that didn't stop him feeling as though he did. Didn't Sebastian deserve happiness for once? Didn't Sebastian deserve to be loved too? Kurt was always the obstacle, the insubstantial but insurmountable barrier which barred Sebastian and Blaine's happiness. Any other lifetime would have found them together, save for one stupid chance of fate. And he had thought, maybe, with Kurt out of the way, the mischance could have been righted. Well, it was clear what thought did.

Now, all he _could_ think was; what had he done? And able to bare the noisome guilt no longer, he chased oblivion on the destructive road with abandon; through a haze of disillusioned senses and contained fire.

He could feel it working, but not nearly quickly enough. He slid another bill across the bar and picked a new poison. Money was not the root of all evil, it just bought you your one way ticket.

Everyone eventually would have to walk to solitary way, and he might as well live dangerously while the music played. Life was for excitement and that couldn't be found in being good.

He took his drink and sipped more leisurely, as this time around, down-in-one had the likelihood of leaving him comatose on the floor. Utterly absorbed in his own desecrated self-worth, he was surprised when his phone rang, recalling him to an equally unsympathetic world.

The number was unknown and he was intrigued. Not even bothering to relocate to a quieter surround, he picked it up and pressed receive, swirling the glasses contents casually in his other hand.

"Hello?" Satin smooth.

"_Alright, listen up rodent features and listen good, because imma say this once and once only_." That feisty attitude and acid wit, not unlike his own, were instantly recognisable to him as the Latina's.

"Well, well, well," he mused with relish, "if it isn't the Rottweiler from the slums. Hasn't anyone muzzled you yet?" he laughed.

"_Oh yeah? Bring it pretty boy, because at Lima Heights Adjacent we'd have you for breakfast. Let's see if you're still laughing when you're collecting your teeth from the floor._"

"As tempting as that offer sounds, I'll have to decline; washing my hair that night." He grinned, if she were a guy, his life would be complete. Her fire did strange things to his heart as he stoked it, never afraid of getting burned.

"_Alright smartass, cut the crap. Now I might be a judgemental bitch and heinous person to boot, but even I've got standards, and __no-one__ beats on my friends but me, got it? So you and me, we're going to have a little talk; Masonic Hall, 2 O'clock, tomorrow_."

Sebastian laughed in a seductive fashion;

"Mmm, and what if I refuse? What if I decide you're not worth my time?" He spoke with an aloofness he knew would infuriate her, gaining far too much pleasure from their competitive exchange; the boast of territorial dominance.

"_Oh, I'm worth your time_," she replied haughtily. "_See, I know you put something in that slushy, and I'm not inclined to keep secrets that aren't my own_."

"I bet you do," he chuckled richly, "but unfortunately for you, you have no proof."

He felt no genuine anxiety towards the possibility of being found out. He didn't care for education, he didn't care for criminality. There was nothing incrimination could do to him that he would lament.

"_Don't you worry, I have my means_." And that sounded like a promise. Bring it, he thought with excitement.

"You know I put something in there, because if the situations were reversed and you were in my position, you would have done it too, wouldn't you?" His tone was silk as he contemplated her expression.

In answer, the line went dead, and he savoured his victory once again. And so the pieces had shifted and the game picked up pace. Face to face tomorrow, they would call each others bluff.

The chemistry between them was astronomical, primal and primitive, the aggression of two beasts squaring up to one another poised to charge. Competing for sport, defending their territory, excited by the dance of equal footing for the first time observed. The flavour of their personalities was twinned, enhanced by their verbal duals and unceasing games of one-ups-manship. It made him feel alive instead of broken.

But the one thing about fire, was that it tended to spread uncontrollably, unless it was put out.

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><p><em>As always, thank you very much for reading, and for your continued support.<em>

- One Wish Maigc.


	3. What A Difference A Day Makes

_Didn't even think I'd get this finished on time nevermind two days early! :)_

_Firstly, I'd just like to take the opportunity to thank you all for the continued support you have shown for this story in reading, reviewing, alerting and favourite-ing. Honestly, you're response to this has astounded me, more than I could ever hope to dream._

_Secondly, an apology, that I can't get these chapters out any quicker. They just take an inordinately long time to write and type out. This one, for whatever reason, gave me a lot of trouble from the beginning. Many a day I just sat staring blankly at the page and some parts were re-written because I was so unhappy with them. Hopefully it's turned out better now. I like this version better anyway :')_

_I tried to make this chapter shorter ... and failed, but only by a small margin. I'm still trying to master the skill of only saying what needs to be said, rather than trying to say everything. _

_In re-watching the 'Michael' episode and counting Kurt's outfits, assuming that he didn't change them for the afternoon of the same day or something :') roughly three days pass between Blaine getting slushied and Sebastian and Santana's duel, but for the purpose of keeping the story going, here it's two. Each chapter represents a consecutive day._

_Also it's stated on the Glee wiki that Jeff is absent from the smooth criminal duel, so I needed an excuse for him to miss it, but something which meant he was fine for later ... :)_

_The title of this chapter comes from Dinah Washington's song of the same name._

_Anyway, enough of my rambling, hope you enjoy :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3:<strong>

_What A Difference A Day Makes_

* * *

><p>The first thing Jeff became aware of when dragging his heels back into the realm of consciousness was just how uncomfortable he was.<p>

The discomfort had nothing to do with the dead weight against his shoulder; the piercing dawns light which seeped in haughtily, reminding him that they had forgotten to draw the curtains; or the particularly verbose salutations of their winged neighbours and namesakes – all of those things which could have easily been the usual perpetrators. No. Rather, the discomfort had _everything_ to do with the sickly warmth his skin seemed to radiate, the heaviness and deep ache of his limbs, the brunt of which force seemed to have taken up residence right behind his eyes, and the acute awareness of themselves granted by sluggish senses, which only lent more conviction to the abnormal feeling.

The meagrest inclination of his head confirmed what his suspicions already knew. Awesome.

Maybe everything would resolve itself with just a few more hours sleep, it was a tactic that had worked before, and not sparingly. The precise tincture of the gloating light still placed the hour in the bracket of early morning. If he could just sleep until eleven, then maybe that ought to do it.

Placing his faith on the merits of this plan of action, he turned over with a single exaggeratedly cautious movement, fearing exacerbation, and then cried out in surprise.

Hindsight reinforced the foolishness of this response, both because it caused his already pounding head to protest with all the greater aggression, and his vision to distort as if he were suddenly peering out from behind a fun house mirror, and because, a second too late, memory caught up.

Nick startled awake beside him from where the pair had fallen asleep curled up together the previous night; still firmly in the grips of that same irrepressible need to be close to one another, which apparently only found further potency in accidental intoxication. But all of this was little comfort to Jeff, who folded himself into a foetal position, and willed the contents of his stomach to remain in their designated setting. Today was not going to be fun.

For a second, Nick blinked owlishly, confused over what had woken him initially. But then a shift in the mattress and a pitiful moan besides demanded his attention, and what it pre-empted broke his heart.

The sight of Jeff in such evident pain and distress aroused Nick's concern immediately, and overthrew his loyalty to caution instead for instinct; a potentially perfidious alternation given the gravity of recent events.

Without thinking, he slipped his arm beneath Jeff's legs, the other encircling his back, and with surprising strength, lifted the blonde onto his lap; fighting back the pangs of agony which assaulted his protestant appendage. He tucked the soft blonde hair beneath his chin; breathing in the scent and rubbing a hand across Jeff's back soothingly.

At first Jeff contested the movement, which only made it seem more certain that he could revisit lunch without any of the decorum. But as soon as he felt the familiar body against his own; strong and constant, its warmth like a salve to his own raging inferno, the muffled pulsations of its accelerated heartbeat leaching some of the potency from the cacophony within his head, he relaxed, because he would know Nick anywhere, and his presence invariably reassured him that everything was alright.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked with a forced calm. And that's when his touch registered the detail, now that it was seeking it; how perceptibly damp the material of Jeff's t-shirt was, how the blondes skin burned beneath, and how, even in lieu of the former, he shivered; his body trying to regulate its temperature. One touch of his forehead told Nick all he needed to know.

"Aw, Jeff, you're burning up," he sympathised with growing concern. He immediately pulled the covers up around them both; catching Jeff's remonstrating hands as he tried to push them away again. This needed to be done carefully, without sudden extremes of condition. He laughed without humour as Jeff offered him a lax scowl, because if he didn't laugh he felt he might cry. Jeff looked so pitiful in his arms; as weak as a kitten, and eliciting the same overwhelming compassion.

Ever so subtlety, the blondes lips parted, and he whispered three words, which would have inspired more confidence if spoken bolder, but seemed to cost him untold effort to even speak at all;

"Just … the usual." His tone was an attempt at reassurance, which didn't stand.

Then, struggling with weak determination against Nick's embrace until the latter partially released him – though Nick still maintained a steadying hand upon Jeff's elbow, ready to catch or support him as the need arose – Jeff reached slowly towards the small beside table. Opening the top drawer, he extracted an oblong, hard, plastic case, and with a resigned sigh, put on his glasses. The glasses he needed but was too self-conscious to wear full-time, or even outside of their dorm room. The glasses Nick thought made him appear even more unbelievably handsome, and were now defiantly a distraction. Almost instantly, Jeff's pinched expression resolved, and he crawled meekly, back into Nick's arms, breathing hard.

As he had done only once before, in a similar situation, uncomplicated by feeling, Nick ran his fingers tenderly though Jeff's soft locks, frowning slightly when he found those too, damp with fever.

He was no closer to objectifying or sorting through the implications of his romantical feelings for his best friend – that could take weeks, months even. But what little clarity sleep had afforded him was that; no matter the nature of his interests, he would not allow them to interfere with, nor alter, the way he conducted himself around Jeff. Their camaraderie was golden, something come across maybe even just once in a lifetime. Therefore, it didn't matter that the action seemed now too familiar, and treacherous, or that it about drove him insane with desire, if he had done it before, then he would do it again. And that resolution lent him steel.

Besides, Jeff calmed to his touch; and this at least, Nick knew how to resolve, because looking after Jeff was something which came to him more naturally than anything else.

A persistent disuse of the stylish, black-framed lenses left the blonde with repeated bout's of eye-strain, made more severe for the intensity with which he had to focus on even the most menial tasks. This explained the evident headache, the obviously irritated eyes and the trouble he seemed to have focusing during these not infrequent periods. The usual remedy was nothing more sophisticated than a couple of hours extra sleep and laying off the homework and pleasure reading for a day or two.

Nick had been privy to this occurrence countless times before and should have recognised it instantly for what it was, but it had been the fever which threw him. That was an anomaly. He hoped it was nothing more serious that Jeff just having been placed under too much pressure of late, the toll of which had caught him unawares in resolution. It was something Nick would have to keep an eye on anyway.

When Jeff's breathing eventually evened out; an indication that the nausea had passed, Nick stirred himself into positive offensive action, despite his disinclination to move, despite _Jeff's_ disinclination for him to move. But well wishes only went so far as a remedy.

Carefully extricating himself, and almost surrendering to the blondes pitiful protests in the process, all but for knowing that he was only being cruel to be kind, Nick stood.

Now surveying it from an outsider perspective, he wondered how they could have slept so comfortably on a bed that barely allowed for one occupant. Maybe because comfort was not always dictated by where you were, but also who you were with … And why was he missing a sock? Come to that, why was the errant one now masquerading as a light-bulb cover? He pushed both thoughts aside for the moment.

Helping Jeff manoeuvre into a sitting position at the edge of the bed, he subsequently gathered the blondes oldest, scruffiest and most comfortable pair of sweats and a McFly t-shirt that was bought two sizes too big by an inattentive aunt and had since doubled again; the tallers absolute comfort clothes. Who else would know these things but Nick?

He caught himself savagely, before the testament could progress further. His feelings did not matter, would not take that liberty for themselves – Jeff was and would always be free to love whoever he would. Even if that person wasn't Nick.

"I'm going to get you something to bring down your fever, okay?" he asked softly, handing Jeff the garments at his monosyllabic assent. "In the meantime, you might feel better in some clean clothes. Think you can manage?" And wasn't that entering himself into a compromising situation, because, really, what was he planning to do if Jeff couldn't?

Jeff offered him a half-hearted smile, even the mere thought of moving made him feel weaker, but Nick seemed to interpret this as an assent.

Left alone, Jeff concentrated all his energy on the task in hand, but even the slightest decline in the altitude of his head threw him into a swooning spell which took his breath away. He abandoned that approach immediately, and swinging his legs up onto the mattress with a herculean effort, he lay on his back and felt for the appropriate leg holes with his feet, before being forced into performing a mortifying shimmy movement to work them up past his waist.

The thought of the t-shirt though, was too much. He needed his hands to anchor him in case the world decided to tilt again, and his eyes were having enough difficulty focusing without further provocation. He sighed bodily, half in exasperation, and half because he felt so inexpressibly sorry for himself.

He hated feeling so dependant, and had it been anyone else to witness it, he would have shunned their kindly intentions for the price of his own shame. But with Nick it was different. It never felt like he was sacrificing anything, more like they were equals on some profound level, which allowed them to be vulnerable around one another without losing face.

Nick rung out a flannel under the steady stream of cold water, before filling a glass with the same liquid. He extracted two Tynelol, and one of his own painkillers – which he was just working up to needing – though surprisingly, his hand felt markedly better already.

He looked at the small white pill with aversion and distrust. Last night was a colourfully humourus blur, which made him wary enough without more clarity. He snapped the pill in half. Still unconvinced, he quartered it, and set the other three aside, swallowing and grimacing at the bitter after-taste.

Then, he took a few moments to compose himself, because remaining guarded around Jeff was getting harder, not easier with practice. It just felt like another lie, and for an earnest person, he had been doing a lot of that lately, irrespective of any googly intentions which may have inspired it. But how could you confess to someone the colour of your feelings, when you didn't really understand them yourself? It was like an enduring anxiety, both mollified and made worse in Jeff's presence, and only ever made worse in his absence.

Counting four minutes, he decided that constituted sufficient time for Jeff to get changed and comfortable again …

No quite.

The sight of Jeff still perched on the edge of his bed, in the same damp t-shirt as before, shivering in the open air, and looking as sheepish as anyone with a mammoth proportion headache was possible of looking, drew Nick up short.

He quickly scrambled to cover up the hesitation though, when Jeff turned doleful and apologetic eyes upon him, scrambling to retrieve something, _anything _from the floor in-front of him, under the pretence of it crossing his path. He came up with two compasses arranged in a totally x-marks-the-spot emblem. What the actual hell?

Rather than pondering the mounting obscurities of their shared abode, Nick simply smiled compassionately, because, over caution aside, he wanted nothing more than to fold Jeff in his arms again and shelter him from the world, and his own pain alike. How could he blame him simply for needing help?

Intimacy with Jeff did not scare him, it was his own bodies response to that intimacy which did. The insubstantial draw of breath, the elevated heart-rate; more rapid that if he were plunged abruptly into a fight or flight scenario, and the irrepressible urge to cross the unspoken boundary of friendship.

Placing the various oddments upon the bedside table, Nick turned to the heart-wrenching figure with a sympathetic expression.

"Here, let me help you."

Jeff just smiled in gratitude as Nick's fingers gripped the seam of his t-shirt. But even in such a delicate state as he was, he couldn't help noticing how they shook.

"Arms up," Nick instructed with a false cheerfulness. Jeff complied with stiff, cautious movements, feeling the world tilt and sway dangerously around him, until, without conscious recollection, he was scrabbling for something to hold him firm; capturing Nick's arm.

The brunette chuckled softly, but the sound was strained as his arm slid around Jeff's back.

"Don't worry, I've got you," he soothed, "but you're going to have to let go of me, okay? Close your eyes if it helps, I'll be done in a minute." Jeff complied.

With deft and delicate movements, Nick stripped him of the garment, pointedly looking anywhere but Jeff's exposed torso and endeavouring to ignore the touch of hot skin against his own. He had seen Jeff this way a million times before, and the same was true in reverse, but now his gaze would seem perverse. With the same care, he pulled on its well worn replacement, and was able to let out his breath.

"There, that wasn't so bad," he encouraged, helping Jeff sit back against the pillows. The blonde looked like he might argue.

When it was clear that Jeff's earth and sky had ceased their unsatisfactory trade off, Nick handed him the glass and medication. Refusing the water, Jeff dry swallowed the tablets eagerly. Nick resolved to press the matter of liquids again in a while, because the last thing they needed to do was add dehydration to the list.

Then, laying the cold compress on his forehead, Nick went about making the rest of their room more habitable. He belatedly drew the curtains, plunging them into an early morning dankness which was invariably easier on the eyes and installing into the DVD player; Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix, lowering the sound until it was nothing more than background noise. It formed standard protocol for when either of them happened to take sick. They knew every word.

Then, reclaiming his errant sock from the light bulb, and god, did he even want to know? He handed Jeff the remote, smiling to realize that he was already fighting sleep.

"Lie with me?" Jeff begged, words heavy and slurred with fatigue, his eyes slipping closed repeatedly, taking each time a greater will to reopen.

Nick felt his expression freeze into place, and assume the properties of panic. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before remembering the promise he had made to himself. Of course a sick or sleepy Jeff was an affectionate one, it formed another of the many adorable ways and mannerisms which had caused Nick to fall impulsively and irrationally in love with him in the first place. His throat, suddenly dryer than the desert barely forced out the sound:

"Sure."

This was a terrible idea, he reminded himself anew with every step necessary to close the distance between them. Even if nothing else was certain, then this was; they couldn't go on like this, because sooner or later, something was going to give.

With gentle movements he slipped beneath the covers, prepared to lie here all day if he had to. Immediately, Jeff moulded himself into the contours of Nick's side, identifying grooves he seemed born purposely to occupy. When it seemed that every inch of his body had melded with some portion of Nick's own, he merely placed his head upon the brunettes shoulder and sighed contentedly.

He had to know this was more than friendship, right? Why else would he seek such familiar intimacy? Why else would he never bristle at the performance of some gesture Nick was certain contravened the boundaries of friendship?

Even within the span of a minute, Jeff's breathing evened out to the soft, almost mesmerising rhythm of a sleeper. The flannel was a cold, damp and uncomfortable presence against Nick's neck as he tenderly smoothed the troublesome fringe out of Jeff's eyes, traced the sleek frames of the glasses he loved so much, and which they would never agree on. Then, in a rash moment of impulse, he did that which he had almost done once before, but had at the last minute drawn back from for fear of rejection from the lucid mind. He brushed his lips against the crown of Jeff's head, imbuing that brief kiss with all the things he didn't have the confidence to say aloud. Even in the womb of sleep, Jeff smiled in response.

He slept for 37 minutes apiece. Nick knew because he counted each one.

The first time he awoke, he urged Nick to go down to breakfast without him, despite the fact that it was barely seven thirty and the canteen didn't open until nine on a Saturday, a fact that seemed beyond his current powers of comprehension. Finally, in an attempt to placate him, Nick grabbed a three month old packet of Red Vines, which had been idling in the drawer, and began eating with exaggerated relish.

"For breakfast?" Jeff had asked, just managing incredulity.

"The things I do for you!"

The second time, Jeff merely drew himself closer to Nick – if such a feat was indeed possible – as if sleep had somehow diluted the intensity of their proximity, before slipping contentedly back into the world of dreams.

By the third, Nick descried a definitive improvement, which, coming fractionally with every consecutive return to consciousness, now culminated. In waking Jeff seemed more aware, and less cautious in his movements, which brought Nick great encouragement. Seeing Jeff beaten was heartbreaking.

As the film neared its climax, and Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Nevil and Luna banded together in comradeship to usurp the insincere fate of Harry's only living relative, Nick fell to thinking about his own family.

To his parents he could not claim to have been especially close, but they were good people: they taught him right from wrong and always supported him. When he told them he wanted to sing, they accepted with good grace that they were never going to have a lawyer or neurosurgeon for a son, and instead re-routed their aspirations to Broadway. But even that was a small thing by comparison.

This way Ivy League, maybe even necessitating a complete lifestyle change. He knew they would never relish it, but would they resent it? Could they in their hearts come to accept him for who he was, or was that ask to great for them to accommodate? After all, this was not a scenario where their disappointment could be hidden behind a smile, or side-stepped by a reinvention of dreams.

How did he tell his mother that she was never going to have the grandchildren of whom he knew she had always dreamed? How did he ever again look his father in the eye and appeal for his advice, knowing all he would see was the boy who never turned out like he should? They had always seemed things of little consequence before, but now masqueraded as a prominent sacrifice, which he questioned his willingness to make.

People talked. Prejudice was their innate reaction when confronted by something they couldn't or didn't want to understand, and it was especially rife in the upper class circular, where money, it seemed, bought greater liberty of speech. Would it stigmatise them by extension too? Would they blame him? Or worse, would they turn that blame inwards?

He thought of Jeff's parents; traditionalists in the extreme, severe in their expectations. _They_ would never accept, and almost certainly would resent. How then, did he justify forcing Jeff into the wilderness and telling him to weather the storm? Even for love seemed like a pitiful excuse, because love shouldn't make its object choose, and revelation in this scenario also imbued an inadvertent ultimatum.

Suddenly, a new thought arrested him: something he had never even before considered. What if the depth of their respective parents scorn culminated in a prohibition towards seeing or even speaking to one another?

Nick worked himself into such a flagrant distress at the thought that, for several minutes afterwards, it hurt even to breath. He had always considered the greatest obstacle to any future between them, being Jeff himself; his choice. Of course, in the back of his mind, there was always the possibility that things might not work out, but that they _couldn't_? That attempt wasn't even an option. He bristled at the constraint.

So … maybe they didn't tell them. At least, not until they were eighteen. They could keep this a secret, right? …

Wait! What was he thinking? None of these things were even issues, never mind immediate ones which necessitated circumnavigation. He was getting _way_ ahead of himself, and besides, he had not even yet sorted through the constitution of his own feelings for Jeff … had he?

As if on cue, Jeff began to stir, nuzzling into Nick's neck for an instant, before lifting his head and stretching with clear renascent. Nick's hand was immediately at his forehead, removing the now warm flannel and estimating the degree.

"You're fevers going down. How do you feel?"

Jeff settled himself comfortably back into Nick's arms before answering, yawning minutely;

"Better than before. Gravities back in force again and my head doesn't hurt nearly as much." Further encouragement. Nick took advantage of the improvement to redress the point of liquids.

He proffered the glass in an imploring manner:

"Think you can drink a few sips for me?" Maybe asking for himself might make Jeff more willing.

To his amazed gratitude, Jeff took the glass without argument, as if stirred to action by true thirst. Leaning comfortably against Nick's chest; consoled by the gentle warmth and soft, tender contact, he sipped the liquid contentedly in small mouthfuls, until three quarters of it was consumed, and he could force down no more.

He handed the glass back to Nick with an apologetic look.

"You're still taking it easy for the rest of the day," Nick warned him, feigning a stern expression, as he shifted so the two of them lay in a comfortably slouched position that was closer to prone than vertical. He got no arguments there. If even the most incredible people had a flaw, it was that Jeff always tried to do too much.

They watched the rest of the movie in easy silence until the hour struck mid-morning, and Nick began to contemplate the pros and cons of a scavenger mission; the stale Red Vines hadn't even touched the side, and Jeff needed to eat something. Food wasn't strictly permitted to be consumed within the dorms, but that was one restriction they all flouted unashamedly.

Preoccupied as he was, he almost missed the covert movement of Jeff's hand as it raised to remove the offending spectacles, now that he deemed his necessity of them was passed. _Almost_, but not quite.

Nick caught the appanage a mere hairsbreadth from satisfying its intention, and lowered it.

"Nu-uh," he denied softly, "those need to say on."

Jeff looked sheepish at having been caught, before an air of very real panic stole away any childlike delicacy from his expression. It was the alarm at being found caught between the jaws of necessity and truth, and Nick understood it immediately. It was an age old aversion that did not strictly have any grounds.

"Just for today," he assured with plication. "Just in here. No bodies going to see you but me, and I don't care … actually I think they're cute."

It was a bold and perfidious confession, but was worth the danger to see Jeff smile: to know that his words, which could have so easily marked the end of everything, had a positive effect.

Jeff raised an eyebrow, but the gesture was mocking. Maybe he liked his glasses just a little better now …

It was another measure of his and Nick's strange equality, that he could freely and without fear, wear them in front of him, when he didn't dare acquaint them with the wider world.

"Are you hungry?" Nick asked.

Jeff shrugged minutely, without meeting Nick's eye and mumbled;

"A little, I guess." Nick caught the lie immediately. He wasn't, he just said it because he knew it was what Nick wanted to hear. Nick shook his head smiling slightly;

"How about you try and eat some toast anyway?" Jeff's eyes quickly landed upon him guiltily before darting away. He should have really figured it out by now that lying to Nick was redundant. "I'll even get you some apricot jam …" Nick tempted slyly. Nothing could tempt Jeff into eating like the promise of apricot jam, and he knew it. Jeff nodded, though making an effort to make it seem begrudging.

"Then I'll stop bugging you, I promise," Nick laughed, smoothing Jeff's fringe out of his eyes again. He was defiantly starting to need a haircut.

"Not bugging me," Jeff protested weakly; "looking after me." And then he turned his still irritated-looking eyed upon Nick which were all the more intense and devastatingly alluring for their infliction; "thank you."

"What are friends for?"

The canteen was practically empty when Nick arrived unhurried. The juxtaposition in atmosphere between weekdays and weekends was laughable, almost like two different worlds. He collected his toast and coffee without comment, slipping two petite pots of jam into his pocket.

In the vast space you could have heard a pin drop. This was the Dalton he remembered; clam, sedate, genial, where before peace was only ever interrupted by song. Never the malicious humour of one whose arrogance told him he was the son of all creation.

Returning to their dormitory, Nick exchanged _Harry Potter_ for _The Lost Boys,_ grinning at Jeff's sound of appreciation, before climbing back beneath the covers and allowing the blonde to settle himself against his chest once more. It was easier if he didn't think about it.

He balanced the plate between, and with the small plastic knife he had procured, spread the jam liberally before dividing up the pieces.

He chewed thoughtfully, savouring the flavour which echoed of summer. Watching as Jeff tore off small pieces and nibbled without appetite. He guessed he would have to content himself with the fact that _some_, was better than none at all.

Finally, after surveying their perimeter a few more times and noting several additional eccentricities about its current state, Nick ventured to ask for the worst.

Something had been gnawing away at the back of his mind. He needed to know exactly what he had said last night, and as a result, how great a damage limitation would be necessary. All he recalled through the psychedelic haze was that he had been more than scant on inhibition. Did Jeff, perchance, already know that nature of Nick's feelings, and was his behaviour this morning a mere reciprocation?

An immobilizing panic flooded through him at the thought. There was only ever really one chance to do things right, and had that been squandered by induced foolish frivolity?

No, he was sure his tongue had not been that loose as to betray him, that even misguided and befuddled he could have scraped together a sufficient degree of restraint. Yet he didn't know for certain, so he began with something timid by comparison;

"Jeff? Why was one of my socks on the light-bulb?"

"Oh," Jeff laughed, happily recalling the memory, "you said something about there being too many suns in the room." He shrugged.

Nick stiffened automatically, which was an incriminating reaction considering Jeff's proximity. He remembered thinking idly the previous day how Jeff's ambiance was as entrancing and warm as that of an earth-bound sun. Had that really come out? Opps.

"Right after you passionately declared that you wouldn't bow to societies dictation that we were bound either to wear socks in pairs or not at all," Jeff continued unabated, his features lighting up with amusement, which banished the strain that had lingered there. "You pledged that you wouldn't choose either way just because they were deemed socially acceptable. Actually you came on pretty strong about that point."

Dear god, it was worse than he thought! Nick resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands only by the most infinitesimal margin. It was not hard to guess what his ambiguous speech had been implying. So apparently he favoured metaphors while intoxicated; good to know. He was torn between embarrassment and shame; embarrassment because he had managed to turn what formed a monumental identity crises in reality into something pathetically laughable in premature expression, and shame because he had expressed it at all, and to _Jeff _of all people.

Meanwhile, Jeff buried his head delicately into the space between Nick's jawline and shoulder, sensing his maelstrom, and while not understanding it, seeking to console it.

"What else did I say?" Nick asked, his tone flat with resign.

"Nothing bad!" Jeff reassured him with soft desperation; forcing himself to swallow another bite of toast for Nick's benefit, even though his stomach unhappily protested the input of the food he so avidly longed to enjoy.

"You just contemplated the possibility that Sebastian was really a Dementor in disguise, since his presence alone brings misery to any room he enters. Then, you talked about the ways the Capitol was trying to control us, which convinced you that everything electrical in out room was bugged, so we had to spend the night in darkness. Then you realized, of course, that our dorm was actually the location of buried treasure, built over the prodigal 'X' to throw even the most accomplished pirates off the scent. There's a treasure map around here somewhere too ..." Jeff added with a laugh, his eyes roaming the near vicinity searchingly for a second, before his tone became more subdued; "But then, you couldn't stop shivering, and by that time you were pretty out of it. So I told you to come and lie with me, so I could keep an eye on you."

Nick felt his heart melt at this admission, and both were abruptly thankful for them rooms dankness, as they blushed fiercely. The depth of Jeff's feeling was equalled only by the reciprocal of his own. Irrevocably the affection was there, but was the motivation also?

"The whole night was rather entertaining, actually," Jeff assured him with his best winning smile. Nick chuckled and allowed the residual tension to leach from his body. He was glad at least one of them had enjoyed his humiliation.

After half an hour, Jeff had manage maybe five bites of a single piece, if all his cautious nibbles were accumulated. And through his persistence, Nick had perceived the struggle; watched the faintly green tinge of nausea grow with each consecutive ingestion. Maybe he had forced the matter of food a little too prematurely.

"You don't have to eat it if it's only making you feel worse, you know," Nick reassured him gently, before relieving Jeff of his burden and pushing the plate back onto the bedside table.

At its loss, Jeff looked troubled. He wanted Nick to know how much he appreciated the gesture, wanted him to know how sorry he was that he had not been able to enjoy it, wanted him to know that having him here was the best medicine in the world, and wanted him to know how grateful he was for him, and not just today, but every day, because his arms made Jeff safe. All of that he tried to express in the brevity of a whispered;

"I'm sorry."

Nick just shushed him gently, manoeuvring so that he lay upon his back, and Jeff's head was pillowed against his chest. One moment of indecision passed, and then he pulled Jeff closer. What Jeff had wanted to say, Nick already knew.

And it was like that that they fell asleep, for, as much as he adored the blonde, being woken up a 6am on a Saturday morning, just wasn't funny.

Until, at noon exactly, a persistent knocking roused them because apparently not even the weekends were sacred any more.

Grumbling Nick disentangled himself regretfully, leaving Jeff to blink his way owlishly back into awareness.

He crossed the room in seven strides feeling a protectiveness towards Jeff that was surely out of place growing inside of him. It only transcended into a more pronounced anxiety when the door opened to reveal Trent, supporting a red-trimmed blazer and a troubled expression.

"Why are you in uniform?" Nick dared to ask, his stomach clenching in anticipation of the answer which he knew had no possibility of being good. Uniform was only strictly regulation for attending classes.

Trent looked as though he had been forced to swallow something unpleasant, as one who knows the weight of the words he has been decreed to speak, might appear. He avoided Nick's eye as he intoned with something close to shame;

"Because Sebastian ordered it."

It was clever really, Nick mused with disdain, having one rebellious sole advise the discretion of another, almost making it seem like they moved on opposite sides of the board, making them question the conviction of their loyalties. How convoluted must a mind be to persistently unbalance, and unbalance effectively that of so many others? It didn't even bare thought.

"He wants us all down in the entrance hall in twenty minutes … we're going off campus." And weren't they, given the nature of events over the last few days, harrowing words.

Nick swallowed almost convulsively as he and Trent exchanged a glance, as significant as it was discomposed. There existed no doubt in either of their minds that this was it; Sebastian's retribution. It would come on swift wings and it would come hard. And what was worse, they couldn't defect it, the right to refuse had been revoked. For a moment, they looked to each other for the strength which they couldn't secure in themselves, finding none in reserve. They felt exactly how Sebastian intended them to feel; helpless.

"Oh," was all Nick could manage.

From within that syllable was reaffirmed a memory; of Sebastian's arm grown long indeed. He and Trent had secured the prestigious solos, but it hadn't been a victory, if anything it had been a loss; a loss of the most revered freedom; speech. Sebastian had took away their voices, made their song his own. But even in silence, wasn't there always the responsibility of action? That was an over-sight, if Sebastian had not considered it, and a dangerous one at that. One which could culminate into his eventual undoing …

"What's going on?" Jeff's voice called from across the room, stronger now than it had been all morning, but still with a listless edge that quickly had Nick backtracking any extravagant battle strategies he may have been entertaining. Of course he couldn't oppose Sebastian, he had agreed in the first place to safeguard Jeff's future.

He was at the blondes side in an instant, compelled by his compassion with everything else forgotten. As he kneeled beside the bed, Jeff looked down at him with a growing unease. It was a brand of trepidation which knowing would do nothing to absolve, only exacerbate.

"It's nothing to worry about," Nick began, which only automatically aroused Jeff's anxiety further. He knew that even if his voice didn't betray him to the boy who knew him best, then his expression certainly would, but he had to try. "Just, Sebastian wants us all to meet down in the hall. We might be going off campus, briefly." And how he hoped it _was_ brief.

"Why?"Jeff was instantly guarded, but there was something doleful in his expression.

It was only then that Nick realized he didn't know. Didn't know what lie they were supposed to be assuming. The true nature of the venture had been so apparent that he hadn't thought to ask.

It was Trent, therefore, who spoke, having entered their room out of automatic habit, without realizing the temporary prohibition of visitors.

Jeff sank back into the pillows, with a small groan which was only detectable to Nick's ears, endeavouring to make himself appear as inconspicuous as possible.

If Trent noticed anything peculiar in Jeff's sudden support of glasses, he didn't say it, and Nick's admiration for his subtly and shrewdness raised to astronomical heights.

"Surprisingly, he didn't care to elaborate," it was said with heavy sarcasm, "but here's betting its nothing good."

It took all of two seconds for Jeff to toss aside the duvet cover, swing his feet onto the floor and stand, and a further three for Nick to overcome his shock sufficiently to react.

He quickly caught hold of Jeff's wrists as the vertigo hit, and he swayed on the spot. Trent seemed to have lurched forward at the movement, and now stood occupying a useless stretch of no-man's-land, faintly confused over how he had arrived there.

"And where do you think you're going?" Nick asked the blonde, raising an eyebrow and with the best impression of sternness he could muster.

"To get ready? Sebastian wants us in the hall." Jeff replied with confusion. Hadn't Nick just told _him_ that?

"Uh- uh," Nick denied, unarguably, "you're in no condition to be going anywhere. You're supposed to be taking things easy," he reminded.

"I'm f-fine." But the way he wavered as he said it and brought a hand to his temple as if to ward off an oncoming bout of dizziness, rather belied the conviction of his claim. His excuse was quick in coming, however,;

"I just stood up too fast."

"Sure," Nick agreed genially, which in itself was an indication of incredulity, pushing Jeff firmly back down onto the bed. Realizing once and for all that he was beaten, Jeff offered no resistance, but had mind enough to scowl, which Nick just chuckled at anyway. He didn't want Nick to leave. He didn't want him to go anywhere he couldn't follow.

"Rest for goodness sake," the brunette teased lightly, sweeping Jeff's fringe off his forehead to better ascertain the degree of his fever. Finding the results favourable, he asked with a mockery of long-suffering patience;

"Can I trust you not to re-enact the Great Escape while I get ready?"

Jeff just crossed his arms; "I'm not making any promises." But under Nick's gaze, he settled back into the pillows and pulled the duvet up closer around him to demonstrate his compliance. Nick further ruffled Jeff's already impressive bed-head affectionately, before going into the bathroom to get ready.

For several minutes stood in front of the mirror, he agonized over his hair. Not for any particularly vain practice, but because of what it represented; compliance and rebellion – the styles relative. And though the choice had always been clear in his mind, it was time to make it definitive. Resignedly, he scooped out a handful of gel and applied it liberally; feeling like a traitor to his own cause. What was one to do when the head and heart were in contention with one another? In the aftermath of Sebastian's dominance display; open hostility would have been folly. He reassured himself with the thought that he was just being suitably careful; protecting both Jeff's interests and his own. The fire in him was not yet dead.

After they were left alone, Trent moved forward to take a seat upon the edge of Jeff's bed.

"Not feeling good, huh?" He asked, taking in Jeff's still pallid features and tiredness, but he was searching for something buried deeper. Jeff shrugged resignedly;

"I'll be okay."

Trent offering him a that's-the-spirit look, all the while not missing Jeff's preoccupation, which formed his point of intrigue. He was sure his conjecture was educated, but yet something within him needed confirmation, so he ventured to ask, without sounding overly presumptuous;

"How come you _want_ to go?" It had not been mere obedience which had stirred Jeff into action, and certainly not to Sebastian, but something more deeply routed, which verged on the cusp of desperation. "I'd jump at the chance to miss it …"

Jeff didn't answer in words and not immediately. Instead he looked crestfallen and profoundly distressed for a moment, before turning his sights significantly and somehow, unwillingly, towards the bathroom where Nick resided therein.

"Oh," Trent said, knowing he had been right.

Of course Jeff would have figured it out too. For hadn't it been his realization in the first place? Cold and exhausted, still haunted by the prominent memory whose horror nine miles had done little to mollify, hadn't Jeff feared that Sebastian would exact some form of retaliation on Nick? And now too, he knew what he had dreaded was coming to fruition, and there wasn't a thing he could do to prevent it. The frustration and fear had to be unbearable.

The hollowness and helplessness, which undoubtedly came hand in hand, though, Trent knew all to well. But there was one saving grace in this whole sordid mess; and it was that Jeff was ignorant to Trent's part in it. So the sassy Warbler did something dishonest if only to be kind.

"We said we'd look out for him, right?" he asked adopting a concurrently bolstering and reassuring tone. Jeff nodded, uncertain of where this was going. "Then you don't need to worry; because I'll watch his back for the both of us. I wont let anything happen."

Then, without warning Jeff lurched forward and hugged him with all the tenacity of a vice, overcome with gratitude. Trent hugged him back, though in his turn overcome with guilt. It was a promise of faith that he would never be able to keep.

When Nick emerged, looking suitable dapper, he expertly coaxed Jeff into taking a second dose of medication before refilling the glass and setting it beside him. Then he arranged and rearranged the covers meticulously around the blonde, clearly stalling for time. Clearly unwilling to leave.

Jeff reached out to touch the hardened locks, swept back casually off Nick's forehead. The sight brought back unpleasant memories.

"It's just for show," Nick reassured him, "no going back." He forced a smile when he felt more like crying. Because nothing constituted abandonment more readily than leaving Jeff here alone.

"Stay in bed," he told him, "make sure you keep hydrated and watch some bad TV. That's an order." Then, folding Jeff's fingers over the cold surface of his phone, and allowing his own touch to linger there for a second; "If you need me, then don't hesitate to call, and I'll come straight back, I promise. Screw Sebastian."

With his best attempt at a reassuring smile, Jeff gently pushed Nick away from him;

"Go."

Outside, Nick and Trent's front crumbled, and they looked upon each other with open trepidation. What new devilry did Sebastian have planned, and what part would they be forced to play? How far would their limits be pushed? And to what extent would their morality be forced into submergence?

~ * … * ~

Sebastian was waiting for them, of course, as they descended the sweeping staircase with trepidation into the entrance hall.

The various Warblers were already assembled, meandering around in small, closed cliques; scant on exchange, and even, it seemed, awareness of company – as if the habit of living had become tedious to them. Each minor grouping exuded an air which assured Nick and Trent invariably, that they were not wanted, desired or would be tolerated, save perhaps, only by Thad, who nowadays was as ostracised as they were. Oh how the former council member had fallen from favour, and the loss had both subdued and beaten him, until now, in the absence of Sebastian's direct address, he sat with his Ipod cranked up to full volume, pretending that all of this wasn't killing him.

Despite their separation, however, one feeling was unanimous, and tangible even in the air; unease. Irrespective of their loyalties, none were eager to venture off campus again; not as a unit.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, Nick and Trent faced Sebastian as one united front. He may have bought their unwilling compliance in public exchange, but in private, they held with no such stipulations.

"What took you so long?" he demanded impatiently, and then with the next breath, annoyance prevailing;

"Where's Jeff?"

His manner, they marked was more abrupt and brash than usual, and their was a certain eager unrest prominent in his movements, reminiscent of a race horse restrained at the starting line. Was Sebastian … excited?

"He's sick," was the only form of explanation Nick afforded for both interrogatives, and even that was around tight lips. Even that small admittance felt like inviting Sebastian into a private sector of their lives, where he should never exist. Finding his defensiveness provoked, Nick added as an insolent afterthought; "So you better have a good reason for dragging me away."

Sebastian smirked; that infuriating, omniscient gesture which cut with the cold cruelty of a knife, and marked passage into a dangerous territory for all those in recite.

Nick wondered if a scowl would have looked friendlier on his face.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know that?" It was said simply, with a silky tone, but what it implied was so much greater than the words themselves. It made something beautiful, disdainful.

Nick's heart accordingly skipped a beat, though he worked hard to remain stoic; Sebastian wanted a reaction, and Nick would not willingly give him the satisfaction. Under his forced calm demeanour, however, he crumbled, until he was as vulnerable as a solider, standing naked on the battlefield. Did Sebastian know? Was it possible he could?

Trent looked between them nervously. Animosity characterised the intermittent seconds as they graduated, until Nick challenged recklessly;

"If you have something to say, Sebastian, then say it …"

Sebastian merely looked him up and down once, and winked. In doing this, he could not fail to notice the bandage upon Nick's hand, which today, he wore uncovered. His expression accordingly resolved into one of smug victory, that Nick thought a little bit rich.

Somewhere between the realms of sleep and consciousness, the brunette had suffered an epiphany. Though the damage had been done initially in striking down Sebastian, this particular measure was only made necessary in rushing to protect Jeff, marking it less a symbol of the boy he loathed and more one of the boy he adored. Sebastian could happily think what he liked, to Nick the semantics were everything.

"Now where would be the fun in that," the head warbler purred. Of course, he was more of a slow torture man.

"Alright," Trent interrupted before weak civility could degenerate further into an all out brawl … _again._ "What's going on? Where are we going that we need to be in uniform on a _Saturday_?" He raised an eyebrow, working himself into disrespect.

"I'll tell you everything you need to know on the way. You're both riding with me." He turned away.

Neither missed the way he said _needed_ to know, as oppose to just simply everything. This was bad. It was Wednesday night all over again, starring Sebastian as the puppet master, the one who held all the strings, and Nick and Trent recast. In Shakespearean times the performance would have defiantly been a tragedy.

"No, Sebastian. Tell us now or we're not going," Trent demanded impressively.

Eventually it was the small things which succeed in pushing you over the edge, and the thought of carpooling with Sebastian had certainly done that, landing him in the territory of indignation. Every face in the entrance hall was turned in their direction, watching without discretion.

"No."

The simplicity with which it was said was in itself disarming. The smile mocked injustice.

As he turned again to face them, the expression he wore assured them that, whatever they did, he would still retain his authority.

He leaned in so that only they were privy to his pretentious whisper;

"If I were you, I would consider the precariousness of my current position, and the position of certain absent friends before I made any rash decisions. It's amazing how easily the truth can become misconstrued …" His words hung in the air with a tactile poignancy. His tone was so much more dangerous for its calm and reasonable appeal.

"Is that a threat?" Trent accused, finally finding his voice again.

"It's whatever you prefer to take it as," Sebastian replied smoothly.

Yes, it was a threat. That they were failing to fulfil their end of the bargain with appropriate grace and humility. That Jeff's absence could be perceived in two ways; as genuine or a betrayal, and Sebastian was more inclined to populate claims of the latter. The truth _could_ become easily misconstrued, especially when someone purposely set out to hijack it. Nick's anger was incited at the injustice;

"You wouldn't." Sebastian just laughed;

"You keep saying that, but somehow, I always do." The words contained a strange introspective interest, before his tone became harsher and uncompromising;

"So pout and sulk, and when you've decided you're ready to take responsibility, come and join me. You knew your actions would have consequences, you brought this on yourself."

He turned and left them standing in incredulity, as the rest of the Warblers filed out obediently in his wake; a perfect military unit. Only Thad spared them a backward glance, torn as he always appeared those days. Futilely trying to reconcile head and heart.

Something about that day had made Sebastian even more dangerous than before.

They didn't have to decided anything, because the choice had never really been in their hands; it was all an illusion. They were here, after all, against better wisdom and judgement enabling him. Sacrificing their own freedom to keep a mutual friend (and in one respect so much more than that) free from the very same influence. Commitment did not come any plainer than that … it also meant that they knew what they had to do, but they didn't have to relish it.

They exchanged a look so saturated with all the feelings that words could not express, that lose yourself in it for a minute and you would drown. There went self-respect and so many other things they had valued.

They slid into the back seat of his ostentatious car feeling like more primitive versions of themselves, feeling the self-betrayal.

"Good choice." Sebastian commended patronisingly as he pulled away sharply from the curb.

Had they ever thought his driving was as smooth as his threats, then they would have been in for a turbulent realization. His mistreatment of even the prestigious vehicles advanced capabilities was severe in the furthest degree, and it protested his every acceleration and brake with contempt, clearly baring no love for its owner. As callous with his own possessions as with anybody else's, to Sebastian it seemed, sentimentality meant nothing.

Being Sebastian's passenger was a frightening experience – or maybe that was just for their benefit, another way for him to demonstrate his omnipotence. He shattered every variable speed limit with an excess of fifteen miles per hour, over and undertaking traffic indiscriminately without signal, missing collision each time by a hairsbreadth. At junctions he even even drove headlong into oncoming traffic, forcing them to give way or collide; a barrage of angry horns followed in his wake. He passed through red light after red light, as if the law was somehow beneath him, as if he didn't even see them, didn't even care.

Probably he didn't, convinced he could buy his way free of any infringement. How he had retained his licence even this long, how he had attained it in the first place, was an enigma.

But despite his reckless, arrogant, stupid and selfish abandon, Nick had paradoxically never witnessed Sebastian looking so content as he did then, chasing down death in style. The guy needed help!

Nick and Trent surreptitiously clung to the edges of their seats with white knuckles for the duration, working hard to mould their expressions into indifferent masks.

And worst of all, was that, in the confined space, the scent of alcohol; stale on Sebastian's breath, permeated. Sickly sweet, acrid and nauseating. Suddenly, this was so much more than one destructive personality.

As they drove into town, their speed dropped mercifully, until they were idling along at the limit. Eventually Nick and Trent felt able to release their death-grip somewhat, though serenity was not something which could be achieved in Sebastian's presence, least of all with him behind the wheel.

Consternation won out over fear, however, when the heavy, furtive silence became too much to bare in stoicism.

When Sebastian threw the vehicle into a sharp left turn, Trent ventured with slight impertinence;

"Where are we going?"

Apparently Sebastian wasn't deathly allergic sincerity for he answered with the truth;

"The Philharmonic Hall." There was that same light of excitement alive in his eyes again at the mention, caught momentarily in the rear-view.

"Why?" Nick pressed immediately, determined to take advantage of this sudden and uncharacteristic forwardness, while being similarly assured also, that somehow he was playing right into Sebastian's hands.

"We have an appointment." It was the sound of a predator in the midst of his most thrilling chase.

"With who?" Trent traded off with equal forcefulness, but apparently they had surmounted the limit of 'strictly need to know,' because Sebastian didn't answer, just smiled in a way that meant trouble.

His silence was irrelevant, however, because the answer was self evident, and they had know it all along. Here would be the second meeting of the Warblers and the New Directions; the retaliatory strike.

Those faces, frozen in various states of mute horror and shock haunted all three of them indiscriminately, and for Nick, none more so than Kurt's, tinged also with betrayal which laid bare Nick's very soul, and which he had not yet succeeded in reconciling with his memory of the outspoken counter-tennor. He could see each one now, superimposed upon his mind, and he knew he could not confront them again, couldn't look them in the eye without it taking everything he had. It was partly for shame, partly for weakness.

Would Kurt be there? Would he have left Blaine's bed-side just long enough to stare down Sebastian and condemn him? What about the blonde female, who had exclaimed so fitting a tribute to the noisome quality of events which warranted no sophisticated words?

One look at Trent confirmed that he too was held to ransom by the same internal debate of conscience.

They pulled into a sparsely populated car park, and the ostentatious vehicle shuddered to a stop over the division line of two separate bays. The grandeur of the establishment only added further incrimination to their purpose. Their entourage was no-where to be seen, left behind in reckless haste.

It was several tense minutes later before Sebastian deigned to speak, eager to savour and relish every moment of their defeat. He was the cat who got the cream, the bird who captured the worm;

"And now it's time for _you_ to hold up your end of the bargain," he said with a self-satisfied serenity, but always the same undertone of threat, which was the only thing preventing them from defecting his utilitarian control.

"It seems to me like you're having difficulty remembering where your loyalties lie, so I'll offer you a reminder. In this trunk is a cooler box, when I say, I want you to return here, mix the contents and bring them to me."

When defiance was born in their eyes he continued with a delighted irony,

"You seem to forget that beneath your so-called moral standing, your idea's of chivalry and honour, and the foundations of that pedestal you've set yourselves upon, that your hands are stained with the same guilt as mine … or at least, they will be." Those words sent a chill through them. "All of this was down to you Nick, you're idea was instrumental after all, so why not step up? Take some credit."

Nick had never hated Sebastian more than he did in that moment as he hung his head; besieged by shame at having his insecurities publicised so brutally and in so obvious an attempt to break him. The same insecurities Jeff's presence alone absolved. This time, Trent took the defensive;

"Why are you doing this?" And beneath the disdain were detectable vibrant hues of hurt and injustice. A victim asking the criminal the purpose of his mortal sins.

Sebastian's answer was simple and arrogant and without feeling, as he stared out through the windscreen;

"Because I can."

Something akin, perhaps, to helplessness in Trent snapped, and impulsive feeling took over, compelling him to denounce Sebastian with perceptive abandon;

"Because your scared," he accused in subdued tones; "scared you you went too far, and now the only person who you truly cared about hates you. Scared that in standing up to you, we might lead others to undermine your authority. Scared that you're worthless and you life means nothing. Your a bully Sebastian, and bullies never win."

Trent fixed him with a long, hard stare, watching the fissures pursue each other across the surface of his composure.

If Sebastian had come within an inch of losing his control yesterday, then today he came within a centimetre. This was a panther, strayed into a world of urban planes, cornered, marked and hunted; prepared to kill for it's own survival. A creature only made more dangerous, not less for its fear.

Something in the worlds integral structure had altered to make Sebastian vulnerable; as close to human as they had ever witnessed him come. And there was only one person who he had loved and lost, only one who could be the reason for the change.

"You. Don't. Know. Anything," Sebastian spat through bared teeth, his expression murderous as he looked anywhere but the passenger seat, anywhere but its occupants whose charisma and friendship had always been a threat to him.

"If you say so," Trent shrugged feigning nonchalance. He knew he was right, but it was folly to insist so, and suicide not to back down. Some truths were not meant to instruct the ears of their subject.

As always, Sebastian recovered his composure with rapidity, and the scenario which had gone temporarily awry, was under his control again; perhaps even more so for his shaken restraint. What the moment had allowed was a glimpse into a tortured soul.

Meanwhile, Nick had been carefully compiling the pieces, and now revealed the image. In retribution for their verbose denouncement of his actions, Sebastian was making _them_ the perpetrators. Never the hands to toss the slushy, but now the ones to make it. It rung of noisome irony; a play on the dual meaning of offence; first taken, and now committed. Nothing could have extolled a heavier price upon his heart. Protect Jeff; lose yourself.

"I wont do it," he muttered defiantly. His voice first timid grew stronger with every syllable until it was an accusation.

"This is wrong Sebastian, can't you see that? You almost blinded Blaine and now you're going to do it again?"

"No," Sebastian disagreed conversationally. "_You_ are."

The very air inside the vehicle was stifled with anger and animosity as they faced each other down with depreciation.

"And what if we refuse." Then Jeff would suffer. "You can't make us do something we don't agree with," said Trent fiercely. Even Sebastian didn't yet have that kind of power. "And how does your little scheme pan out without our assistance, I wonder."

"Yeah," Nick echoed, offering a thought which while being considered liberally, had never been given voice before; "being in the Warbler's isn't everything, _Seb_. Not now. In kicking one of us out, you lose all three, and then guess which team doesn't have enough members to qualify for Nationals."

What sacrilegious miscarriage had turned even the altruism of Nick and Trent to the desperate craft of retaliatory blackmail?

But even these threats were tame in comparison, and made redundant to Sebastian's next words

"You actually believe that the worst I can do is kick Jeff out of the Warblers?" He laughed bodily, a sound that seemed to strain the edges of sanity.

Meanwhile, the pair felt their blood run cold, even in the inferno of their confinement; could almost descry the steam evaporating from the multiple points of contact. Was he bluffing? God they hoped he was bluffing. Or was it really possible that he bore that much leverage?

"No, everything has to begin small," he smiled sagely, "after that, things become more _inventive_."

Now that was something which didn't bare thinking about.

Staring at Nick with an indecipherable sense of loathing, he drove the knife in deeper;

"For someone who would claim to care about their _friend_, so much as to sacrifice themselves, you certainly have an obscure way of demonstrating your commitment. So either, you're too stupid to recognise the precariousness of your position, or you just don't care. I'm inclined to think the former, because if it were me, I'd be doing everything to make a favourable impression, including, preventing they themselves from doing anything which had the capability of being misinterpreted to their deficit …" It was said with a deceptively amiable tone.

Nick recognised what he was doing immediately; marking Jeff's absence tantamount to betrayal, trying to make him punishable for an action not performed, trying to make Nick accountable. Sebastian already knew that Jeff was the one chink in his amour, had already exploited it to devastating effect, but Nick was determined to hold off on his compliance, even for the empty victory of a minutes vapid pride. Trent caught up a moment later.

"He's sick, Sebastian! In bed, watching bad TV. What is it about that which is so difficult for you to understand? Would you have preferred us to _drag_ him here?"

Nick's voice was cold and hard when he spoke, as faceted as a diamond; beautiful and destructive. That he would seek to allude to a dishonesty Jeff had never possessed, when his own was so flagrant, tipped Nick over the edge of some precipice of restraint. Even the best laid plans …

"You're nothing more than a coward, you know that? And one day soon, you'll look around and find your life in ruins. Whose going to be there to help you pick up the pieces when you're nothing? Who'll even care when all you did was drive everyone away? Who'll show you compassion, when you never even treated them to civility? Who'll be willing to forget everything you did to them, when _you_ need _their_ help? You tear everybody down because you want to feel better about yourself, but do you know what, Sebastian, Jeff's ten times the man you'll ever be, and come to that, so are we, because we've got integrity."

For a moment they stared each other down defiantly, a true and uncompromising hatred in their eyes, born of separate origins.

Sebastian didn't have the grace for humility. After a lifetime of incriminations and denouncements of character, it seemed he had built up an immunity, for Nick's home truths worked upon him no outward indication of effect. What had happened to him to make him this way? To forge a being so unfeeling?

Trent looked between them, felling all the threat of the atmosphere. Then, a peculiar thing happened; two phones bellowed their tones simultaneously.

Nick reached for his automatically, while Sebastian was more reserved, watching the scene unfold with especial interest, as if something satisfying could be gleaned.

Trent had never wished more ardently that he could throw up a wall between them and confer with Nick in the privacy of a second.

It read:

_Nick, are you OK? Where are you? What's Sebastian planning?_

Jeff, of course. _His_ Jeff; who was back home in their dormitory right now, bundled in a duvet and fretting over Nick's safety at the hands of Sebastian. Who he had held in his arms not even an hour past, discovering for the first time a sense of inner peace. Who he loved, more than he could ever remember having loved anybody in his life. Who he would inarguably do anything for, even if Sebastian ordered the performance price of something which contravened his every standing moral, and more than that, the very essence of himself. This was in impasse; reached.

"I take it that was Jeff …" Sebastian said with something close to derision, embodying dictator again. "Are you going to tell him he's out or shall I?" Silky smooth, cold as ice.

Nick's silence spoke his defeat better than any word of assent, and Trent was forced to concede also; One man standing alone was not heard over the crowd.

So this was why Sebastian had chose them; because they alone perceived him for who he really was, the satisfaction of their preconception changed nothing. His power lay in deceit, the front he could present to everyone else; the charismatic gentlemen; the honey-worded presider who would claim to want nothing for himself.

Their entourage pulled into the lot, and the Warblers congregated; a blue blazer stealth unit primed for infiltration. An army of cruel intention, when one it had raised it's voices in harmony. Furtive glances were cast by one of its number, born from ideas of demotion.

Sebastian lead the way through the tastefully striking hallways, with their mauve canvas and inlaid gold embossing, as always with a disdain for anything of beauty. Never once did his steps falter, confirming Nick's leading suspicion that his particular text had constituted directions.

This was it. He thought he would have felt the familiar panic, which thus far he had managed to keep constrained, rise up within him and consume with ravenous hunger as the moment drew nigh; but instead he just felt numb.

They arrived at exactly the same moment; through two opposing doors, from two opposing lives, filing into the grand auditorium, where amongst the plentiful forest of mustard-velvet lined chairs, a stringed quartet sat in practising.

Nick and Trent exchanged a glance, they remembered her instantly, for she had stood beside Blaine before the rest of their group was revealed; the Latina who took no prisoners.

They looked expectantly towards the door through which she had made her entrance, wondering if they were furthering the same tactic here; anticipating a staggered deployment. But the opportune moment passed, and slowly they were forced to realize and accept … she had come alone.

As one they admired and cursed her arrogance as she walked towards them with all the presence of Sebastian in female incarnation. A wistful sigh rippled through the ranks of the Warblers as they took in her outfit with appreciation.

"Hey, Andrew McKarthy! Don't know if you've heard, but Blaine may lose an eye." Even this was said with a supercilious command. Words of heavy toll which were sounded with indifference. She was captivating.

Trent felt sick with horror as he gazed across at Nick. Somewhere down the line, they had become each others port in the storm; a sanctuary of sanity in the upside down world. The fight to suppress every turbulent emotion, and so preserve intact, the stoicism demanded for the moment was an arduous one.

"The same Blaine who was besties with all of you, not four months ago."

The truth of her accusation was devastating, so how could Sebastian find it irksome? How could he posses the imprudence to shirk even the smallest modicum of repentance?

Trent couldn't do it, he couldn't preserve his silence, couldn't pretend to the world that he was okay with this. For the second time that week, he spoke out against Sebastian, and in so doing, decimated their union charade completely.

"Wait, are you serious? Is he going to be okay?" It was a plea as much as an earnest question, for her to believe that they were not, all of them, like him.

He could hear Sebastian's sound of warning, like a low growl, and though he could not see it, it was not difficult to imagine his expression. But none of that mattered, for the Latina turned to regard him, and something shifted accordingly in her gaze; a less intense hostility, perhaps? Her answer, nevertheless, was equally as serene and equally as cutting;

"Well sure, if he doesn't care about seeing in three dimensions."

"Trent, I got this," Sebastian said in a tone which was made even more dangerous for its reasonableness.

Nick didn't know how he knew it, or what strange indication of a moment had tipped him off, but yet he was certain that he was right. Their arrangement had been to meet alone; as representatives of their respective choirs – but Sebastian had brought company.

Was he that much of a coward that he couldn't face her alone? The girl who matched his every slight with one as biting of her own. Did he feel the need to intimidate her, as a way of reinstating his own dominance? Surround her with a sea of unfamiliar faces, and render her incapacitated, until she was weak enough for him to prey on without effort; carrion to a crow? Sebastian, after all, played on impotency.

No, it was more than that. There was something instinctual, sensual, competitive and exciting in their interactions – the intimate dance of lovers enemies to the death. A world where feelings were imagined though they never existed, and were denied when they would never relent. Sebastian was a game-player to the core, a people who not only relished, but _needed_ an audience, at least while they were performing …

"Bummer, about Blaine. He was pretty. He shouldn't have gotten in the way though, _that_ slushy was meant for Kurt." Calm, always calm, even in admission.

Though these self-same allusions had been made to the Warblers at large by Jeff upon the night of the initial attack, they were given now a more credible realism; spoken from the horses mouth itself. And though few enough of them knew Kurt's name, a ripple of unrest spread through the ranks at it's confirmation. If the unfavourable trio had been right about that, then how much else of what they had spoken was true, and had been disregarded?

"You may look like the villain out of a cheesy 80's highschool movie," she was moving closer to him now, serene outrage the main characterising agent of her expression, "but you should know, I'm fully prepared to go all Danny LaRusso on your arse."

Mere inches separated them as they stared each other down with enticing maelstrom. And then, lowering her voice, until it was all but a seductive purr; "Admit you put something in that slushie."

Sebastian grinned, now things were getting exciting …

"What was it, huh? Glass? Asphalt?"

"Red dye number six," his respondent tone was almost sultry.

And while the clash of fierce wills sounded in the halls; the clamour of two rival, seductive voices which would not suffer submission, the stringed quartet turned a blind eye, did not stir from their self-contained reality. Perhaps this sort of thing happened often. Perhaps it didn't. Most peoples actions made little sense to others.

"You're a liar," she crooned, no more than a centimetre separating them.

Sebastian turned to the rest of the Warblers with amusement, ill-fitting, clearly relishing his own performance above the play itself. Where was his regret? Where was his compassion?

"She questions my honour," he trilled, grinning slyly.

Nick about scoffed there and then, because Sebastian and honour were concepts which co-existed only several thousand miles apart; never touching even once in a lifetime.

Then Sebastian's tone became harsh, and that same note of threat he had used upon Nick and Trent earlier was prevalent again. The arrangement a constitution most violently associated with trouble.

"I _demand_ satisfaction in Warbler tradition."

She blinked for a moment, trying to ascertain whether she was being ridiculed, or he was being serious. Then raising an eyebrow and sounding incredulous, as if their battle of wits had suddenly degenerated into the foolish squabble of children at a craft table;

"You want to have a duel?"

What was Sebastian thinking? Nick shifted his position uncomfortably.

When no dissent was offered to the clarification, she turned back to the quartet, who were still listlessly milling around; neither pretending to play or apparently seeming to eavesdrop, and addressed them;

"Cello guys, can you hang back? I'm going to need you for this one."

Their unnecessary partners exited without a word.

"Everyone else clear out," Sebastian ordered uncompromisingly, "I don't want you to see me make a girl cry."

The majority of the Warblers shuffled out with ill grace; grumbling. Was it the vocal duel they resented missing, or the violence it's aftermath promised? Nick and Trent hesitated momentarily; torn. They knew what Sebastian was planning, but he had never closely kept the company of predictability; was it wise to leave them alone?

Had they chosen compliance, as Sebastian was trying to educate them, then they could have reasonably argued missing it, as it remained, however, they were privileged to witness Sebastian's signal and left with no way out. They really should have learned …

They didn't join the rest of their brethren gathered in the hallway. Instead they were propelled forwards by a force which piloted their movements independent of thought, to the fulfilment of some dire end. It was a defence mechanism, based upon one single compulsion which overcame everything else: protect Jeff – the incarnation of warmth, innocence and faith. Maybe in the grand scheme of things it constituted a poor excuse for what they were doing, but to them it meant everything. It gave them strength to get by when their reserves were spent.

This was wrong and they _shouldn't_ be doing it. But disobedience wasn't a luxury they could afford.

They didn't speak as they reached Sebastian's car, couldn't even bare to look at each other and see their own guilt reflected in the face of a brother. It was Wednesday night all over again, and the similarity haunted them.

They had at their disposal two, maybe three minutes to compile the slushie and transport it back inside; depending upon a thousand different variables. That didn't spare opportunity for conscience, and maybe that made things easier.

Nick tore open the boot, which had been left unlocked, and disgorged the cooler boxes contents; a bag of crushed ice, a bottle of food colouring, a thickening agent which had the consistency of jello, and a plastic cup; large.

Trent immediately reached for the ice, while Nick mixed together the red dye and agent until the concoction was a gloupy sludge in consistency, and would stick tenaciously to anything it was spilled upon.

Then Trent began tipping in handfuls of ice, taking care to bring each one to his lips, exhaling heavily three times, before depositing the slush.

"What are you doing?" Nick begged on the third occasion, nerves strained to breaking point.

"Melting it!"

Brilliant! Forging Sebastian's weapon of choice into the least dangerous version of itself. Even without any obscure addition, the serrated edges of the ice slivers could still cause wanton damage if aimed with intent. They weren't taking any chances._ Even in silence, there was the responsibility of action._

Nick immediately took the cup in his hands, pressing them resolutely against the painfully cold surface, allowing his own body heat to leach into the conductive material; raising the temperature of the concoction one degree at a time, until it gave up its form.

They were equals, not enemies. United in their scorn for the cost of Blaine's defence. The only thing which marked them separate from her was the brainchild of circumstance, less definitive than feeling and nothing but a wild chance which could have easily gone awry. They should have been working together, not pandering to Sebastian's want of entertainment, and certainly not this. Their treacherous actions were a show of good faith in principle, even if no-one ever knew about them.

The instant the cup was three-quarters full, they were slamming the boot and retracing their steps. Nick tucked the beverage beneath his blazer, holding it tightly against him as they half walked, half ran, determined to shift the degree count up just that much further, to resolve ice into liquid.

Clearly indignant at having been forced to abdicate his privilege of riding as Sebastian's shot-gun, Flint it seemed couldn't bare the further demotion of being forced to wait beyond the outskirts of the action like a drone, for he pressed himself against the door of the auditorium, despite the fact that every word for within could be clearly comprehended without need of such extreme measures. It was a mark of tame defiance to Sebastian; pulling him closer while pushing him further away, only given the confidence of expression because it was something he would never see. A child denied it's own way, throwing a tantrum, both to reject and incite consolation.

"_I was better,"_she boasted from within. Arrogance come out to play.

"_You weren't even close," _he taunted in return, the smile evident even in his tone. But yet they both still exuded the same sense of seduction.

Nick and Trent halted a meter from the door, staring hard at Flint, steeling themselves for trouble which never came. Apparently there was something in their eyes that even Flint would step aside for. Was that an encouragement or an anguish?

They entered then without preamble, purposely leaving the door ajar, so that the rest of the Warblers could witness the course of events for themselves. It was like stepping from one hell into another without either being preferential.

Sebastian's serene expression broke into a smirk as they converged upon him, and then she way vying for his attention again;

"I was better," she insisted, and then quickly dropped all pretentiousness, in a manner so reminiscent of Sebastian himself. Their moods as changeable as the sea, as unconquerable as they sky.

"Now, tell me the truth," she demanded, "what did you put in that slushie?"

"Rock salt."

It was said simply, and maybe with the smallest modicum of resign, but nothing even in the vicinity of repentance.

This was his admission, out loud, in the presence of twelve witnesses. Cockiness did not even being to cover it.

Deaf to the world around them, Nick and Trent has been moving slowly forwards, manned once again by the same surreal autopilot mode which they had never observed in themselves before today. But even then, their steps faltered momentarily and their resolve broke. Rock salt?

"But it's okay," Sebastian continued calmly, even reassuringly.

"What is it okay?" she demanded sounding genuinely distressed at his persistent indifference, "I just told you that Blaine has to have surgery!"

With his back to her, he plucked the slushie from Nick's cold hands. And then with plication;

"It's okay, because I didn't put anything in this one."

And in one deft movement, he pulled back his arm and threw the liquid in her face.

The only thing which had the capability of registering in any of their minds was a single noisome moment of shock.

She started and gasped as the freezing beverage made contact with her skin; an automatic response, but otherwise did not rise to the provocation, which Sebastian must have been convinced would rile her, nor betray anything of her emotion.

She merely wiped the substance free from her eyes, and spat a small content on the floor distastefully, renaming completely calm, completely controlled. Her only parting sentiment was the promise:

"You'll regret that." And a covert smile, which spoke of motives still yet to come to light. Then, she was gone, leaving in her wake only a stain upon the soft oak floor, so akin in appearance to blood; so reminiscent of its brother on the hard concrete floor of a not so distant multi-story.

In her wake a murmur of dissent rippled through the Warblers, like the internal sounds of a hornets nest carelessly exposed to the world in its breaking. Without question, she had won their respect, maybe in some cases even their heart. Therefore, the latest in a fleet of impossible circumstances had inadvertently orchestrated a monumental alteration, because, even right there and then, Nick and Trent felt the general opinion of Sebastian shift.

With one action which crossed the line, he had been transformed from a hero into a villain. From everything into nothing. And yet he couldn't see it.

For all their misguidance, and recent spate of bad choices, the newer Warblers, like themselves, like almost all at Dalton, had been raised as gentlemen, and she for all her uncouth was a lady. And a gentleman should always treat a lady right. Suddenly the multiple factions were not so different from one another, maybe not even different at all, except in that some among them were more easily swayed.

There was something fundamentally _wrong_ about the violence Sebastian had shown her, and not just because she was a female, but because she had also come alone; because she had not retaliated, which even for all her brazenness, made her into the victim; because she was defending the honour of a friend; and because she had shown them no violence in incentive. It should have been a civilised meeting, the only war one of words, before the matter was annulled with apology. But again, Sebastian had misrepresented them, and slowly, they were beginning to realize their contempt.

For the first time consensus characterised them as a union, and they were _embarrassed_ to be associated with him.

Through the turbulent haze, Nick found conviction, and the strength necessary to bare it indefinitely. Never again, not even under duress would he permit himself to be Sebastian's tool – to be used for devious means. It ended here and it ended now, because he had realized something, which before had always been elusive;

Sebastian was as vulnerable as the rest of them, or at least, he could be made to be, it had just required an askance perception to descry it. The head Warbler _needed_ an audience, an entourage, a foundation of fickle friends to distract away from the empty reality that his life had become, otherwise, he was starved, like a plant in wont of the sun. Take that away and he was as feeble as a shadow, which like himself depended upon others for substance. Though meticulously concealed, it was a weakness perhaps more destructive than any other.

Furthermore, Sebastian only had power over him while Nick permitted it. By letting Sebastian claw his way into his mind and make a hollow there, Nick had enabled him. When agreeing to the terms of his dictatorship and the usurp of his own freedom, which he needed his permission to implement effectively anyway, Nick had enabled him. When publicly denouncing him, Nick had enabled him too; he had began this vendetta in the first place; gave Sebastian his power.

Well, all that was about to stop.

He had been confounded for so long that clarity was a euphoric liberation. No longer was he afraid, neither for himself and Trent, or for Jeff. In defecting Sebastian's cause, he took back that power for himself, and reinstated it over his own life. He made Sebastian the weak one.

Jeff would be safer under their watchful gaze, then ever he was when protected by the ambiguous words of the snakes promise. And he and Trent could rediscover happiness, unsmirched by trepidation and forced immorality.

These last few day in themselves had felt to him like a lifetime; a roller-coaster of epitome highs and lows in disproportion, which made every feeling more intense than ever before; daring you to live in the moment.

He had been affronted by the possibility of losing a friendship he thought was forever; won one he had never anticipated in a struggle of wills he would never have foresaw; seen comrades hurt by causal words and unquestioned actions; lost himself in the tempestuous sea of life and found love to bring him back to shore; sold out his morals for the price of protection; done things he would regret evermore unable to contend with the guilt; and turned his voice to the words of silence, winning a victory for all.

In the scope of days he had grown a year, and founded resolution.

He would take a leap of faith, not only in defecting Sebastian's influence, but in something persistently more frightening, which, if circumstances were different, he would never have found the confidence to do.

~ * … * ~

They returned to find Jeff pacing anxiously. Though still too pale and looking drawn, he seemed to have recovered sufficiently as to re-submerge himself wantonly in tension.

Not knowing had been torture, and one made worse by imagination; made worse by his friends silence. The things he had imagined … just how far was Sebastian prepared to go?

"Nick! Thank goodness!"

The brunette had barely made it through the door, before he was winded by the eagerness and relief of Jeff's embrace. Even as it rapidly diminished, the blondes anxiety was tangible, radiated from every cell in his body.

Nick returned it only out of habit, too numb to even feel his heart stir as it usually did given such familiar contact. His cheeks too cold to even call the fire of a blush. He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn't the same mistake made twice, despite the noisome similarities. This was something bad done for (at least in his eyes) the right reasons – though even that conviction bore no ease upon his encumbered mind – not something bad done without hope of redemption. And that will required a monumental effort.

Unnoticed, Trent slipped past the pair and alighted upon the edge of the desk; this confession after all was a tangent affair, and they had both played their parts accordingly. Though, he spared them their one moment together, feeling within himself a sort of wistfulness denied.

When Jeff finally pulled away, pushing his glasses shyly back up to the bridge of his nose, he held out his phone and quoted in an incredulous tone;

"_'It's okay._' _'It's okay'?_ Nick, do you have any idea how_ un-reassuring_ that is?"

He wasn't even angry. In fact, he was overjoyed. So why did he sound so chastising? All he knew was that the hyperbole; 'driven out of my mind with worry,' suddenly didn't seem like such an extreme exaggeration any more after the experience.

"How about; '_Don't worry, Jeff, I'm fine_,' or, '_You'll never guess what, stranger things have ceased to happen! Sebastian took us to a burger bar_,' or even, ' _he's really got it in for us this time_.' _Anything_. Just so I had some idea – Nick? What's wrong?"

It was amazing how easy his tone could alter from one of admonishment to concern, for he had just caught sight of Nick's expression for the first time. The same one with which he had made so recent and liberal acquaintance; guilt. What had happened now?

Nick closed the distance between them in a single stride; his eyes offering only vapid consolation. Ever so tenderly, though there was some great internal pain in the movement, he laid the back of his hand first against Jeff's forehead, and then against his cheek. Jeff closed his eyes, focusing on the contact, pretending for one more minute. The digression he permitted, though the fact that Nick stalled his confession only worried him further.

"You're fevers broke," Nick smiled, relieved, his voice calm and full of compassion. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Jeff assured him. The headache which was making itself known was not a relapse, but found its root in tension, which was only graduating in him by the minutes.

He caught Nick's hand as it fell gracefully from his cheek, tracing the most infinitesimal caress, and held it there, not wishing to relinquish the contact. Taking advantage of the distraction in Nick's eyes, he held their gaze for a moment, challenging them to avert. When they did not look away, he knew whatever happened had not been Nick's fault It was one of their subtler intimacies; in Nick's case it was especially true that his eyes formed the windows to the soul.

"Please, Nick. What's wrong?" He implored softly. Nick's sigh was heavy and tragic.

"There's something I need to tell you." And when, upon the primrose path of friendship had those words become harrowing?

"Maybe you'd better sit down." Trent advised uneasily.

Jeff fell compliantly back onto the mattress. Or maybe the headache _was_ an indication of relapse, because the world was definitely spinning again. A long silence followed.

Who's eager to lay bare their own foolishness, especially when it was inspired by blinded love? Who wants to admit that they have been used? Who'll dare reveal to a wagered friend the price of protection? Who covets integrity over the influence of pride?

Finally, with heavy words and heavier hearts; speaking as if each syllable contravened a prohibition, rather than feeling liberating, they painstakingly pieced together the events of the last few days; weaving an ugly tapestry.

They told of how they had entered into accord with Sebastian, the day Nick feared he had lost everything, to ensure Jeff's place in the Warblers. How the uncompromising condition had been the price of complete obedience, which, though it masqueraded as something different, had really just been a way to subdue and silence them, before the spark of rebellion that had ignited became an inferno.

How Sebastian's solo elections had been exactly as Jeff had surmised and feared; clandestine. A warning, a reminder and a promise; that their efforts were futile, and in persistence, would only succeed in losing them everything. Because Sebastian was the vessel of triumph, because by endorsing their song, he silenced their voices.

How they had pledged with the most unyielding conviction to shelter Jeff from the realization of his precarious position, and how things had progressed too far to afford even that kindness.

And how today, Sebastian had coerced them into repealing their consciences and becoming felons by the perpetration of the same act which they had originally spoken out against. And how that fall from virtue had awarded them clarity and strength, which lead them ultimately to defect his insincere words and false promises, and take their chances with fate.

For a while, Jeff couldn't speak, couldn't tear his eyes away from the horizon; the furthest point he could descry from their dormitory window, as he tried to absorb the impossible details. The line which separated earth and sky became the veil which separated reality from fantasy; the singular place where he might find cohesion, if indeed there was any to be found. He just couldn't believe it …

He felt Nick crouch down before him, and the proximity which usually called to him now only seemed distant, untouchable. He felt Nick's hands upon his knees coaxing him back to reality. The mattress shifted and suddenly he knew Trent had joined their small congregation too. This was all they had; each other.

"You still with us?" The latter teased lightly, though there was a distinctive strained edge to his voice, as if he took Jeff's silence as an indication of something adverse. Did he believe that Jeff blamed them? Blamed_ him_ for not protecting Nick as he swore he would?

The words, though indirect, seemed to break through the spell which held the blonde transfixed. Blinking once he whispered;

"You really did all that for me?"

The despondency of the moment aside, Nick almost laughed to hear his disbelief. And though his actions were made no less reprehensible by confession, his worries were assured, because it was this beautiful humbleness exactly for which he had undertaken all the pains to preserve. Now it shone out in victory.

"Of course we did," said Nick with a moving tenderness, taking Jeff's face in his hands, tracing his thumbs across the sharp jaw-line. And then with the intensity of a thousand unspoken emotions all vying for prevalence:

"I won't ever let anyone or anything hurt you. Least of all Sebastian."

Trent, feeling a little hot under the collar added in reminder;

"We're looking out for you too, you know? It doesn't just work one way."

Jeff honestly did not know what to say. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that perhaps some portion of him should have felt angry, betrayed by what they had done; both in collaborating to keep him in the dark and assenting to a second attack, especially after marking the repercussions of the prior, even if they _were_ protecting his best interests. But somehow, he just couldn't identify those emotions within himself, the logical ones. Instead, all he felt was an inexpressible gratitude too magnificent for words; and against all laws of physics, that he had grown ten foot in stature.

"But, why threaten to kick _me_ out? Why not either of you? I mean, I wasn't even there …" Jeff frowned, that part didn't add up.

To his surprise Trent chuckled heartily, and Jeff turned to him with raised eyebrows;

"Because Sebastian was desperate. Me and Nick had already threatened to walk out in protest, so therefore kicking us out would have seemed too much like giving us what we wanted for him to pallet." In recollection, some things which had been bitter became sweet.

While this was true enough, Nick had been entertaining the thought of an invariably more powerful and sadistic motivation, which seemed exactly up Sebastian's street;

"Because he knew that even if I wouldn't do it for myself, then I would do it for you. He found my weakness, and he used you against me." Nick's voice, underneath its hardness was vulnerable and almost pleading, as if for this confession he would be condemned. For the first time, he comprehended fully just how malicious the manipulation had been and just how much it had hurt. The pain he had not allowed himself to feel, was an agony even now it was over.

"If you have to give Sebastian credit for something, then it's that he's cunning," muttered Trent darkly. As cunning as the fox.

Ignorance, in its purest form, was bliss; a shield against those thoughts and actions of a world corrupt which would seek to harm us; a preserver of goodly innocence, for a few years at least. At the inception of our lives it envelops us like a shawl, until, year by year, we mark its decline, in theory growing stronger, more resilient to the evils we should never have to know, but is each our destiny to confront. The process is gentle and innate; even if the realizations are not so considerate. It is what is, predetermined even before ourselves, until we are left with nothing more than a veil, which protects us only so long as we do not gaze beyond it with to greater fixation. But to have those remnant threads usurped, even for the virtue of sincerity, if often not a kindness.

At Nick's words, Jeff had become abruptly solemn. Head bowed and shoulders rounded, he seemed to wrestle with some internal dichotomy, whose irresolution was a source of unceasing distress. When he spoke, his voice was small, a painful fall from lofty heights;

"I'm sorry."

"What have _you_ possibly got to be sorry for?" Nick asked with his own sentiments of disbelief. He moved closer until he was directly beneath Jeff's line of vision, until Jeff had no option but to meet his eyes. Those compassionate, sensitive pools which sometimes he felt like he could drown in. He rushed out;

"What Sebastian made you do _because_ of me! It's all my fault. I never should have said anything, all it did was give him an incentive. What if Sebastian kicks you both out now to? What if you don't get to go to Nationals?"  
>He looked between then with such guilt that it was wounding; as if in his blasphemy he had made them all pariahs. How had he gotten things so wrong?<p>

"What? You don't honestly think Nick punching him in the face might have been a little more incendiary than a few shrewd words and home truths?" Trent asked with a hint of irony, the turgid atmosphere forcing him into compensatory humour.

Jeff hesitated, clearly uncertain of how to re-establish himself in the frame of responsibility.

Trent continued unperturbed;

"Besides, Sebastian wont kick us out; _any_ of us. He needs us. It's too late in the competition to start replacing members now, and he would never risk doing anything which might jeopardise the Warblers chances of taking Nationals; even if it _was_ to spite us. So he's stuck in a stalemate." When, however, he perceived that confidence was offering little reassurance, he added more humbly; "But even if he did, then that's a chance we're willing to take."

Nick crossed his arms over Jeff's lap and rested his chin on top of them. There was something poignant in his expression, a queer compound of mirth and sorrow, which could go either way. Jeff couldn't take his eyes off him; it was something completely captivating.

"Do you really think I would go to Nationals without you?" he laughed. And in Nick's silky tones the idea did indeed seem ludicrous. "That I wouldn't be right here beside you, calling Sebastian every unpleasant name in existence, and any more imaginative ones we could think to come up with? That winning the Nationals title would mean anything without you there to share it anyway? To hell with it all! We stick together, right?"

"Right!" Jeff and Trent answered like a roll call, immediately dissolving into laughter.

Jeff couldn't help but feel heartened, because how many people in the world could claim to have two friends who were willing to literally give up everything for them?

"But you still shouldn't have to fight my battles for me …" he countered uncertainly, endeavouring not to make guilt sound like ingratitude.

"Well it's not exactly a fair fight when you don't even know you're in one, now is it?" Trent joked. Jeff was forced to concede the point with grace.

"Just promise me one thing, okay?" he begged of them. "Next time, just tell me the truth? Even when you'd rather lie to protect me." He nudged Nick playfully with his foot, until the brunette sighed dramatically.

"You drive a hard bargain, sir, but I assent."

In crisis was ever the juxtaposition of joy.

Soon after this, Nick offered a string of unrelated excuses and departed, leaving Jeff and Trent to wonder liberally. He had had that look about him; the one affectionately associated with grand ideas, for which he had a particular knack of brining into being. Couple that with a decidedly secretive air and it was enough to arouse anyone's curiosity … or consternation, depending upon ones view of recent events.

When Trent noticed Jeff fingering the black frames nervously, it seeming all he could do not to whip them off and bury them under memory, he suggested a lazy Saturday. The blondes relief was palpable, and once again Trent refrained from asking; everybody was entitled to have their hang-ups, and maintain the privacy of these.

So, the main portion of their afternoon was spent watching films, conversing schemes and ridiculous notions until their sides ached with laughter, and throwing paper ball projectiles into the waste basket, which was set at ever increasing distances. Neither ventured to say it, but both were avidly awaiting the return which didn't come.

Nick was absent from lunch as they took their seats in the canteen, and remained so for the duration. What was he doing?

Jeff and Trent sat alone, but content, passing banter back and forth between them, demolishing hearty servings of Shepard's Pie in the ambient chorus of life.

It was Trent who noticed it; the disorganisation, the sense of loss, identity, where order and regiment had so long reigned. The various Warbler members had long since established themselves into closed sectors; small pockets of twos and threes. Now it seemed that even this tradition had fractured and broken. Could Sebastian himself have really stirred up the winds of change? Because those who had followed him were now left leaderless.

The remaining hours were passed in the comfort of the common room, until, at ten minutes to seven; anticipating Kurt and Blaine's call, they relocated to the privacy of the dormitories.

Passing through the main entrance hall, which constituted the heart of the building – the only point from which every location was accessible; Nick finally caught them up.

Cold and scant of breath, he appeared triumphant nonetheless. His hair was wildly dishevelled, and a faint scent of pine clung tenaciously to the material of his jacket, permeating as he fell into step beside them.

"Where on earth have you been?" Jeff asked, torn between relief and amusement. There was a wild excitement in Nick's eyes, that for some reason caused his heart to beat faster.

"Everything in its own time …" Nick deflected cryptically.

"That isn't ominous at all," Trent laughed, not even resisting as Nick offered him a playful shove.

"You'll find out soon enough."

Jeff frowned. This day seemed destined to constitute one confusing mess from start to finish. Nick's abruptly eccentric behaviour he could weather, but this was crossing the border into the downright erratic. Lately he had observed in his friend a hesitant uncertainty, which, try as he might, he could not place. But now, suddenly, that was gone, without explanation and Nick instead seemed positively buoyant. What was going on?

Few conversations, and especially those between friends – which barely demanded restraint – necessitated ground rules, but they were careful to establish some. Firstly, no allusion would be made to the events of that day, until such a time as they could be discussed face to face. Sebastian, even in his malice, had been right about one thing; actions and words _could_ become easily misconstrued. Secondly, the revelation that Sebastian had indeed put rock-salt into the slushie was again not something which could be imparted with calm rationality over the phone. And thirdly, that Nick and Trent were to be left out of the frame of incrimination as much as was possible, this, of course, being Jeff's insistence. Some truths there was no sense in telling.

This was to be a reunion of old friends; a reminder that loyalty was still something to strive for.

When the phone rang, Jeff put it on speaker, and one voice emanated, exactly as they remembered it:

"_Hey, guys_." Blaine.

A simple greeting had never been more uplifting than that. It marked a confirmation of everything that they had thus far feared to hope. It soothed their turbulent souls, because, despite everything which had come to pass between them; five lives pulled in different directions, this bond was something which had not suffered alteration. Something that probably never would.

"Hi!"

"Hey, man!"

"It's so good to hear your voice!" They returned simultaneously.

There was a pause, and when Blaine spoke again, his tone was reserved and noticeably guarded, as if he feared the retribution of his earlier enthusiasm. They could only imagine what he suspected. While friendship reigned unsmirched, maybe trust would be a little harder to win back.

" … _Am I on speaker?_"

Jeff moved closer to the phone, as if proximity made the conversation more private, as if the reassurance could be transcribed down the line. Nick watched his compassion with pride. Here was the boy who would save a fly from drowning. If anyone could convince Blaine to trust, it would be Jeff.

"Yeah. But don't worry, we're in mine and Nick's room. It's just easier than passing the phone between us and only getting a third of the conversation. This way we can all talk together." A brief pause. "How are you?"

"_I'm okay._"

From his tone, they could almost imagine him shrugging. 'Okay' was a noticeable demotion from 'fine' and they were sure the despondency had not been down to imagination. Discomfort could quickly make an injury tiresome once the initial agony abated, and sometimes was even worse than the latter for its persistence.

"What did the doctor say?" Nick ventured with a sense of solemnity as Jeff slipped back into place beside him, affected by a distress without name. Nick wrapped his arm consolingly around Jeff's shoulders.

"_My right cornea's badly scratched. They think Sebastian must have put rocks or something in the slushie._"

Did he sound so hurt because the memory of that frightful collision and instantaneous agony was still too near, or because he knew all that he was suffering had been meant for Kurt?

"_They want to perform some kind of surgery on Friday. I think they mentioned lasers. I don't know, I stopped listening after that._"

Each of them could hear how hard it was for him to speak of this upcoming event, but there was something of defiant determination in his tone also, which would not be suppressed; a fighting spirit rising above the oppression of human cruelty.

"How are you feeling about it?" Nick asked, sensing the need for admission in every syllable the former Warbler spoke. Love conquered all, but sometimes even that divinity needed protection, needed to feel like it was enough, even when fear won out.

"_Terrified,_" Blaine admitted with a vulnerability which nearly brought them all to tears. "_Like with anything, there are risks …_" He didn't say it, but all of them knew it; and loss of sight was one of them.

How did you begin to reassure someone that something neither they nor you exercised any control over was going to be okay and not have it sound like mere words? A knee-jerk reaction to brush concern under the table because no-one really wanted to confront it?

"_I just – don't want Kurt to worry. He feels guilty enough already._"

Jeff uttered a nervous laugh, which he quickly silenced, because incessant worry was one of the very incorporates of love, and in one as strong as Kurt and Blaine's, it was a miracle that they were even willing to let the other venture forth from the door each morning. Blaine would worry if Kurt so much as scraped an elbow, and Kurt would worry Blaine was suffering a relapse if the former Warbler sneezed after having a cold two years ago. Therefore, the very notion that Kurt did not immediately see through Blaine's courageous front was as likely as amoeba's mastering space-flight and colonising Mars. But he didn't say it. Because sometimes we all needed something pure to hold onto, even if our anchor was a lie.

Trent's countenance was blanched of colour when, with eyes closed, he shook his head in a quailing fashion, as if he were entertaining emotions to violent to house. They were voids of anguish when he opened them.

"Oh, Blaine. We're so sorry!" he cried with such wrenching distress. He had not fully appreciated, until that moment, just how much the events of the day had shaken him. He felt Jeff's hand upon his shoulder, gripping hard.

"_Hey, it's okay,_" Blaine reassured emphatically, turned from patient to prophet. "_It's not like you told Sebastian to throw that slushie in my face_."

The three Warblers looked between each other with sin. But this was not the time for reopening healing wounds, neither was it the time for recriminating absolution.

"But we still trusted him enough to follow. Ignored every instinct which told us we were wrong." Trent felt the truth of his own words descend, because the snake had first presented himself as a stag.

"_Well, you weren't the only ones who were taken in._"

And how could they argue with that, when Blaine ultimately had made the biggest sacrifice? At some point, you had to stop blaming yourself and learn to live again.

From the other end of the line came the sound of footsteps, the swishing motion of linen sliding over linen and the ripping of plastic wrapping torn eagerly asunder. Then Kurt's voice filled the static and they exchanged many a pleasantry imbued with significance, tossing gratitude, concern, apprehension and resolution back and forth between them.

Then, Jeff's keen ears picked up the sound, and he asked with amusement;

"What are you guys_ crunching?_"

There was shameless laughter, sounding discordant over the line, before Blaine answered lavishly;

"_Peanut butter M&M's. They're amazing!_" All traces of despondency were banished in Kurt presence, or maybe rather, _for_ Kurt's presence.

"_Finn's contribution_," the former counter-tenor confessed smoothly, before crunching his own mouthful.

Nick raised an eyebrow and chuckled, remembering all to well the stories of Kurt's lovable step-brother.

"Oh yeah, does Finn know he contributed?"

"_No,_" Kurt admitted without guilt. "_But that's the best part. I'll buy him a replacement back before he even notices they're gone._"

"_I'm a bad influence_," Blaine confided with lacking repentance.

"_Only because you're so difficult to say no to_," Kurt sighed in a would be long-suffering manner, before adding with a pronounced melancholy; "_especially now._"

There was a shuffling of limbs, and there may have also been kissing. The conversation momentarily forgotten as the two became lost in a moment which was entirely their own.

"N'aww," Trent gushed, teasingly.

"_Wow, hello patronisation_," came Kurt's voice over the line, sounding amused. They each fell into laughter before the subject transformed into one of a more serious matter, which none wished really to discuss despite the necessity.

"_What about Sebastian?_" Blaine finally asked, with a heaviness in his voice. The tone of morbid curiosity confided that he had still not reconciled within himself the antithesis of a friend turned enemy.

"_Mr. Schue said that there weren't going to be any formal allegations brought against him._" Kurt's tone was clipped, they knew exactly how the injustice stung. "_He thinks maybe your principle bought Figgins off._"

The three Warblers hesitated upon the brink of a minefield. The idea was not so ludicrous to them. For all of Dalton's fostered tradition and decorum, it was that very reverence which probably sowed the first unscrupulous seeds. Image was one of those things which took a lifetime to build, but only seconds to decimate. One of those things which people would do anything to protect. And distinction only served to extort the cost of the fall; the flagrancy of desperation. No, the idea was not so ludicrous at all.

What did they dare reveal to the delicate toxicity of scorn? What did they dare hold back from the victims of deceit? The answer was everything and nothing. But not here in this time, and not here in this place.

It was Nick who spoke, taking control of the situation, as an extension of his pledge to take back control of his own life;

"We haven't heard anything about that, but you're probably right. We can tell you everything you want to know about Sebastian, but it's a long and convoluted story, and one better told face to face. Maybe we can come and see you?" he hedged cautiously. The pause was minimal, then;

"I'd like that," said Blaine emphatically. And that was all the convincing Kurt needed. In few words all was settled. Kurt's parting sentiments were spoken in forced calm;

"_Sometimes I just wish I could wipe that smug smile off his face …_"

"I think Nick might have beaten you to the punch," Trent joked, and the three Warblers grinned at the allusion.

"_Now __that's__ a story I want to hear!_"

~ * … * ~

Their exchange concluded, Trent executed a tactical retreat, leaving Nick and Jeff alone in the poignant silence.

"_Now_ will you tell me where you've been?" Jeff asked softly, though in all honesty, he was a little apprehensive. They didn't have secrets, and this reticent behaviour was especially out of character.

Nick shook his head with the faint hint of a smile. He read Jeff's trepidation, however, which was like a momentary storm in his placid sailing stretch; rocking his vessel of confidence.

"It's not something I can _tell_ you. It's more something I have to _show_ you. Trust me."

And he reached out and caught the cuff of Jeff's sleeve between his fingers, urging him forward ever so slightly, until the blonde acquiesced to follow him.

At his compliance, however, Nick did not release him, and suddenly, inexplicably, Jeff never wanted him too, either.

They moved liked ghost through the ornate hallway's; shadows of the past, neither speaking to, nor meeting the sight of another living soul. They communicated only via glances; questions tossed into the void without answers.

The air around them felt unseasonably warm, or maybe that was just an illusion, because the source was somehow too intimate, too immediate to be natural. Strange, exciting, daunting.

Out into the grounds, where the grey cast of twilight held firm, and every hue was made royal and remarkable; a distinguished and regimental version of itself.

The wet grass slipped beneath their sure feet, and a million stars cast back their mourning veil to shine out all the clearer for this one night of beauty.

Nick had imagined this moment a thousand different ways; incepted under the influence of chance; rehearsed to the most trivial detail; to the setting of significant locations; to the wildness of here and now impulse – but to every alternative thought had been appointed the one constant: the sense of overwhelming panic he was sure he would feel at the eventual moments cusp.

Reality, however, painted things quite differently, and even that one certainty was found lacking credibility. Instead, he experienced a numbness which comparatively, never made one feel more alive, and a feeling, which left nothing to feel but itself.

After all the hours he had agonised, he was suddenly without fear. The risks endured as the same dark blots against his potential elation, there was no denying that fact, but if the past week had taught him anything, it was to follow, without variance, the course set down by your heart, and in taking a leap of faith, finding your darings reward.

It was liberating, in the sense that was impossible to adequately capture in the constraint of words. It felt completely improbable, part of another lifetimes story he wished he was living, and yet here it was, happening to him: happening to _them_.

After this night, nothing would ever be the same again, but for good or ill, the outcome of events were still yet to be determined.

They hesitated for a moment on the edge of the extensive woodland, which occupied the entire southern quarter of Dalton's two-hundred acre grounds. They were no strangers to the trees and their tangled undergrowth. Entry was not prohibited by the board of governors, but was certainly cautioned against. However, it was only those who were lost in themselves, who became lost in the trees.

Then Nick extracted his tie, even despite the fact he had long since changed back into casual wear. He motioned for Jeff to move closer, and suddenly the blonde realized what he was intending and paused uncertainly.

"Nick …" he began to hedge, before realizing that, actually, he could fashion no legitimate argument. As if _Nick_ would actually allow him to walk into a tree. All of this eccentricity was really starting to alter his perception. But why also did it excite him? Fill him with a wonderfully nervous anticipation and yet terrify him at the same time? Surely that wasn't rational?

Nick's tone was reassuring, and ever so fractionally teasing at the same time, as he spoke;

"It's hardly a surprise if you can see it before we get there, now is it?" he chuckled slightly, until Jeff was forced to smile sheepishly. "I won't let you fall, I promise."

And how could he doubt the boy who just that morning had lain with him and held him, in a way which made all the dangers of the world recede; made him feel completely safe.

Jeff didn't have to say a word, Nick perceived the acquiescence in his eyes, and as he moved forward to cover them, it seemed a terrible loss to blind them from the world, even for this brief period. It was like eclipsing the sun and the moon as one.

He bound the tie gently, and Jeff almost immediately became stiff, immobile and silent in his world of abrupt sensory deprivation.

Nick smiled easily, and took both of his hands, laughing slightly as Jeff gripped onto them like a vice; his anchor to reality.

"Trust me," Nick echoed again in a soothing whisper, beginning to lead Jeff slowly forwards. "I've got you."

While Nick led him straight and true, each step Jeff took was akin to that of a young deer's, which had barely found its feet; unbelievably adorable. He tripped and stumbled, but every time, Nick was there to catch him; to offer a pillar of support as he reaffirmed his footing.

"It's not far," the brunette promised, "think of it like an adventure."

Jeff's steps became surer after that.

The place Nick was leading him to, was one which he had himself discovered in his first week at Dalton, when, feeling all the melancholy of being away from home for the first time, he had gone in search of a place of solitude, where he could sit and muse undisturbed. Somewhere to express the product of his moroseness, which would not attract the attention of his new classmates, who he was still getting to know.

He had stumbled upon it quite by accident, and its beauty had taken his breath away. Just big enough to accommodate two people comfortably, it had happily become his secret; his sanctuary, and he had returned there many times hence over the course of the last three years, until it took on so many more accreditations than merely a retreat in troubled times. Until it became natures very own house of clarity.

Jeff's heart was incorrigible, beating frantically without respite as they advanced, though its tattoo was not owed to fear, but exhilaration. He focused upon Nick's touch, that point of contact becoming the definitive feature of his world. He laughed without really knowing why, simply because all of this was just so delightfully ridiculous. His stomach was full of butterflies, and the only thing he knew with certainty was that he had never felt this way before.

Where they were going didn't really matter, only who he was going there with. Was this it, the glorious new forever which he had sensed upon the horizon? Did every step he took lead him to that absolute? But even as they drew close, its constitution was still unclear, that greatest and final truth was still hidden from him.

They had been walking maybe fifteen minutes – though time seemed abstract and difficult to define in his world of deprivation – before Nick's touch receded; so gently and suddenly that he barely had time to react and then it was gone. He felt abruptly vulnerable and exposed without it; isolated, direction-less.

He automatically reached up to tear off his blindfold, the only thing preventing him from descrying what was happening, but Nick's whispered assurance halted him. He didn't knew whether Nick had actually spoke, or if he had merely imagined it, but the words told him to trust, and in his friend he did, wholeheartedly. So he stood patiently and ignored the zealousness of impulse.

All around him stirred the scent of pine, the same scent which had clung so tenaciously to Nick's clothing.

The sounds which permeated told him that Nick was still close, and he took comfort in that fact. But what he heard when he listened closer did not constitute the usual symphony of living, played out hourly by the woodland, instead it stood out in sharp relief; unnatural. The unmistakable clink of man-made objects, which betrayed Nick's attempt at discretion; the striking of a match in a whole forest of tinder.

"Nick ..." definitely uncertainly now.

"Okay, you can look."

He tore off the blindfold, heart pumping wildly in the persuasion of some compound emotion that was neither wholly loyal to excitement or dread. But look as he might, upon the altered canvas of nature, it was a few moments before he could suitably comprehend what he was actually seeing. The evidence of his own eyes no longer seemed to make sense to his mind.

Whether for his comparative deprivation or not, everything seemed sharper, brighter, more intricate and detailed than he could ever remember it being – as if an artists representation had been superimposed upon his mind, and every petal, every individual blade of grass was made remarkable in its own beauty and significance. Or, maybe this brief space of heaven always looked like that.

Running from east to west of Dalton's grounds was a river, which here, at his feet, had been transformed into the proportions of a stream. Iron grey in the moonlight, it laughed gaily in its haste; mesmerising, tranquil and placid. It drew the eye automatically and captivated it, the natural course of water was one without visionary equal. A body of possibility, freedom and secrets.

It's farther embankment was fronted by an encroaching line of oaks, twisted and bowed with age, though standing even then, proud and defensive. Their roots having long since broken the confinement of the bank, now dabbled liberally in the waters.

This place was a womb of safety, enclosed upon all sides.

Three meters from where Jeff stood, the trees and undergrowth receded, leaving a single patch unblemished, and there, ruled in victory, a lush and verdant meadow, flooded with starlight. The island-like location was presided over by the feathered boughs of a beautifully tragic willow, which lent it a mystic allure. It was a whole word condensed into just a few square feet.

But all of this, so breathtaking in its own right, was not what Jeff, on this monumental night, had been brought here to see. And so he looked deeper.

In the midst of the space; looking so much like he belonged there, Nick stood smiling; an angel fallen to earth. And all around him, like a shattered grace, danced and writhed and flickered the tiny blinking eyes of intermittent candles, like so many fireflies in the night.

They decorated the scene like a host of miniature suns refracted by the broken glass of a mirror. From upon the waters, tea lights put forth their glow, placed with strategic delicacy upon the immobilised lily-pads, augmenting their barren winter clad with flowers of fire. From within the willows weeping boughs, suspended by jam jars, like makeshift lanterns. From the very ground like grown flame, forging a path to their largest congregation. Each of them winked and laughed in their elation at his presence.

Jeff moved forwards in awe and wonder, unable to speak. Surely all of this was a dream? It felt as if he had been thrust forcefully into the impossible pages of a novel. How did something so beautiful as this exist in real life?

The last tendrils of undergrowth parted, offering Jeff for the first time, an uninterrupted view; one continuous stretch of perfection that was his to drink in.

Nestled in the crook of the willows convoluted root system, which pierced the ground intermittently, was spread a tartan blanket. It was around this place that the flames formed their community; just sufficient to keep two souls warm on a cold January night. And reflecting back the light, stood two tall glasses, filled almost to the brim with pink lemonade; a guilty pleasure if ever there was one.

Somewhere up above sounded the harmony of chimes, first bass then tenor; stirred in the breeze. Try as he might, however, he could not discern their source.

Nick had really done all of this for him? But … why?

He moved forward on soundless feet, until he was right by Nick's side. What was it within him which bound them closer than they had ever been before? What was it that forced him to embrace the marriage of insurmountable heights with the devastating grief of loss, both so raw and uncompromising in that moment? Why did nothing make sense? And why, somehow, did he not want it to?

Nick's expression beneath the euphoria formed a constitution that Jeff had never witnessed before; full of something which he couldn't understand, but yet, so powerful that its intensity left him breathless. It was transfixing; hypnotic, and he could not bare to tear his eyes away from it, even as he grew light-headed. There was something in that expression that he never wanted to lose, but yet felt like he could lose _himself_ in forever.

Without word, and still smiling; perhaps all the more for Jeff's apparent loss of speech, Nick cautiously, but with a sort of determined resoluteness, reached out and took Jeff's hand, despite there remaining no outstanding need for guidance.

Jeff didn't protest, didn't even think to pull away, because suddenly he couldn't think at all. Wasn't that strange? All he could do was _feel_; feel the touch of cold skin against his own, feel the electricity which passed between them. Everything seemed surreal, and he had to concentrate to capture and retain even the most infinitesimal detail.

"Sit with me?" Nick invited softly, leading his slowly towards the tartan square, so out of place and yet so fitting in the picturesque environment.

"Okay." It was all Jeff could do to comply.

They sat side by side, hands still clasped, with their backs pressed against the weather smoothed bark. And in lieu of Nick's mischievous laughter, something wonderful happened.

Jeff became aware of the sound immediately; because there was nothing else in the world that concurrently grounded him and made him feel so alive as music. Instantly, he recognised the harps and the flutes and the rising and falling falsetto, so familiar to him, and he laughed aloud without restraint, because from somewhere behind him, the beautifully mournful and simultaneously devastatingly romantic score; _Hymn To The Sea_, was playing out into the night, playing for their ears only.

Jeff had been wrong, he was not walking between the pages of a novel, but rather living every significant moment of a movie, complete with soundtrack. Could happiness ever again surmount the epitome of this moment?

"At the risk of overdoing it, I just couldn't resist," Nick confessed, chuckling. His profound eyes searched the depth of Jeff's; never more certain and yet, never more hesitant.

Some vast, innate yearning urged the blonde to draw closer, fighting back every tributary tear of joy. This moment formed a precedent which would make his heart swell with mourning when it was passed. Something he wished could last forever, and something which he knew never could, something maybe made even more incredible for its briefness.

"Nick, this is amazing!" he whispered, watching the reflections of the flames dance and sway upon the waters; two worlds brought together in a single image. "But I don't understand … why?"

Nick was an enigmatic presence beside him, and when he spoke, his voice was distant, small, as if reduced by the magnitude of his speech. He traced the lifeline of Jeff's palm for an instant, causing the blonde to shiver.

"Because I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, and words don't always say the right things."

Taking in the scene around him again with brand new eyes, Jeff smiled shyly, overcome. Even in the amber light he was certain that his blush was embarrassingly visible.

"You mean everything to me to." Emphatically.

When Nick smiled, Jeff noticed that there were tears in his eyes too, but unlike his own, Nick's were instead a compound of both sorrow and joy.

Something within compelled him to reach up with his free hand and brush them away as they fell, because no-one deserved to feel anguished in this perfect moment, least of all its creator.

But, before he could act upon the impulse, Nick shifted his position, until no longer were they sat side by side, but opposed. Now they were forced to look each other in the eye, to map every insignificant detail of the others countenance with meticulousness. Even if they had had the choice, neither could have bared to look away, not now, not in the moment which had already changed everything.

He took Jeff's other hand, holding each in one of his own. Without thinking, Jeff slid his fingers in-between Nick's, holding tight so that the two of them were bound. There was no fear, and there was no doubt.

Nick spoke with such emotion that Jeff grew cold in effect. His voice alone was enveloping. His very words arresting;

"I've been going over everything in my head; trying to figure out what I was supposed to say. Rehearsing it, writing it down even, just so, when the time came, I would know the words by heart. Then all I had to do was pray I didn't get tongue tied." He laughed nervously, maybe more at the prospect that he still might. "But then, I realized I had it wrong, and that made things somehow both easier and harder. It wasn't what I was _supposed_ to say which mattered, but rather, what I _wanted_ to say. Those words which were imprinted upon my heart and soul, already formed; the ones which really mattered to me."

Jeff gazed upon him with solemn befuddlement, trying to discern the heart of his purpose, and spare him the difficulty of confessing it. But for the first time since their introduction, Jeff couldn't read him. Nick was suddenly a closed book.

Catching the blondes expression, Nick laughed in spite of himself.

"Sorry, I'm rambling, I know. It's just, we've been friends for the last three years, and yet it feels like I've known you all my life. You've been more than a brother to me, more than I thought anyone could ever be, and I don't ever want to lose you, but it's getting harder and harder to bare … Recently, _very_ recently, in fact, I guess something changed inside of me, or else I came to realize something which I had always suppressed; I'm not sure yet, and now, because of it, things can't ever stay the same. I don't see you as a friend any more, I can't …"

For a brief moment, Jeff's eyes reflected devastation, forgoing logic and heart, and everything he knew about their relationship. And that light of desperation grew and scrambled to secure purchase of the abstract friendship they shared, and by strength of will alone, prevent the best thing that had ever happened to him from slipping away.

Nick's hold grew tighter; a physical indication that he was not going anywhere so long as Jeff wanted him to stay. Jeff clung to the contact.

"I can't … because I see you as something _more_. I have these feelings, Jeff. Feelings for you. And no matter how hard I try, I can't ignore them, and I can't make them go away. I've never felt about anyone before, how I feel about you now. You make me nervous, excited, overwhelmed and unbelievably happy without even trying. When I'm around you, I feel complete, like I've finally found my place in the world. It's as if you took a little piece of me and shut it away inside yourself, so that I can only ever feel whole when I'm right here; right beside you."

He drew Jeff's hands close to his heart, as if to demonstrate the proximity of his regard, his eyes smouldering as he uttered three of the most famous words, which were completely novel between them;

"I love you."

Jeff wasn't breathing, wasn't blinking, wasn't moving. Even his eyes; the soul windows, were unreachable, as a thousand possibilities exploded into being, filling the barrenness of his mind with a combustion of fireworks. Was it true? _Could_ it be? Was this the reason why his heart ached in reciprocal? Did this form the origin of Nick's new-found hesitancy, resistance and erratics, which he had united to any other motive but this? Did there nestle a secret yearning inside of him also, which was only now awoken?

All he knew was that something completely novel and amazing had begun stirring inside of him. A fire encouraged into the intensity of an inferno by the surrounding children of light.

He looked into Nick's eyes, where every feeling was laid bare for his consideration, and he wondered what his own betrayed and described. He could feel the warmth of Nick's body beneath his touch, and quite abruptly it impaired his ability to think straight.

Nick's tone was more solemn as he spoke then, and Jeff caught the sacrifice in it which he was never supposed to hear;

"I understand if you don't feel the same way. I'll never pressure you, I'll never make you feel uncomfortable, and , even though things can never go back, I hope we can still at least remain friends? I always want you in my life, but if its too much, and you can't accept it, I'll understand that too. And there'll be no hard feelings, I promise."

And there, the tears fell, in sorrow and not in joy, and Jeff wanted more than ever to stem their unrighteous spilling, but his limbs defied the instinct. How could Nick foster such a low opinion of himself? How could he believe that Jeff could ever turn him away?

"I know it's not fair to ask, especially so soon, and I'm sorry." He drew in a breath, trying to stem the quavering note in his voice, which was making it harder and harder to speak. "But do you think that there might be even the remotest possibility that one day, you could feel the same way about me too?"

Jeff couldn't look at him, he was blushing too fiercely, dizzy with breathless revelation. Piece by piece, series' of unrelated occasions in his life fell into place, painting a future he never would have envisioned for himself. He couldn't think.

"I don't know." And before Nick had chance to adequately comprehend all that he had lost, Jeff whispered giddily; "my heart's beating too fast to tell. Feel"

And he laid Nick's hand against his chest in return, holding it there, breathing deeply to try and even out the rhythm, which only became even wilder at the touch.

"It's racing," Nick breathed, flooded with relief.

_There_ was undeniable evidence. Pretty words and a cunning mind could fool love if they wanted to, but the body always betrayed the truth, whether you wished it to or not. How could two minds alone comprehend the magnitude of that love; limitless and fathomless as it was?

"Just like mine."

Jeff didn't need the confession, he had felt its frantic assault all this time. But Nick was moving closer to him now, and he couldn't breath at all.

"Maybe I can help you," he said in a soft, alluring tone. His expression beautiful, sensitive and awestruck.

"Close your eyes and forget everything else. Just tell me how this feels."

Jeff complied, almost drunk on Nick's scent as it filled every crater of his being. He became intensely aware of each fraction Nick closed between them; eager, but as of yet, holding back. And then, he brushed his lips against Jeff's forehead, his cheek, his jawline. An ice-cold touch which left a fire in its wake. Jeff never wanted him to stop.

There was only one word which was capable of surmising the thousand sentiments it would have taken too long to express. So when Nick pulled away, the answer upon Jeff's lips was all the sweeter for its brevity; "Right."

Lying out underneath the stars, Jeff's head resting upon Nick's stomach, in a gesture that was already so familiar and yet so fantastically new, Nick's fingers running themselves almost subconsciously through his hair; they stole this one hour together, in the safety of their forest womb, before they would have to face the unkindness of the world. Their first, in the company of truth; their precedent, forging something that would be forever sacred and forever their own. This was the beginning of something wonderful. Within it, impossibility was banished.

Nick knew the introspection such a revelation called for, and as he watched him, he tried to discern what Jeff was thinking. Was he passing through the same stages Nick had experienced, but at an accelerated rate? Or was the rocky road to acceptance different for all? In friendship, Jeff's entire mind was laid bare to him, in love, they were both still learning.

"I know," Nick sympathised, "It seems scary –"

"I'm not scared," Jeff said with earnest, manoeuvring so that his head occupied the space between Nick's jaw and shoulder, drawing himself closer. "Love is love, whoever it's with. How can people believed that one label represents so many factions when love is without cohesion and without compare? As long as I have you, nothing else matters. People can say what they want … I love you."

And just like that, Jeff had accepted the same fate Nick had agonized over. No, the journey to self discovery was always personal, always representative of the individual.

They had transformed fantasy into reality, something furtive into something pure and friendship into a love which they never thought would blossom.

There remained only one question, and Nick spoke it searchingly into the night;

"What happens now?"

* * *

><p><em>I was listening to the Titanic soundtrack while writing the end scene, and it seemed rather fitting, so that's why it's in there. At the time Hyme To The Sea stuck me as so romantically moving :')<em>

_Even though the Glee Wiki also said that Santana goes to Dalton to confront Sebastian, that room looked more like a venue than anything we have seen, and if it was Dalton then what was the Cello players excuse for being there? They clearly weren't students :') Anyway, so neither of them could claim a homeside advantage, I set it in a neutral location. Besides, I believe that a girl walking into Dalton might have caused just a wee bit of a stir :')_

_Chapter 4 is underway, but coming along slowly atm. But now that this is out of the way, maybe I can concentrate a bit more._

_Thank you very much for reading, as ever._

_- One Wish Magic. _


	4. We Are Free And We're Running

_My goodness, an actual - by the standards of this story - short chapter! Good job too actually, or I'd still be typing it :')_

_Once again, thank you to everyone who had lent this story thier support. You give me the courage to explore the uncharted regions of that which started life as a single idea of outrage._

_This chapter is a little different from the others because a lot needed establishing, so there is less emphasis on Nick and Jeff's relationship on this offering. But there are still some cute moments which I hope will tide you over. This chapter also had a lot of charcters to try and deal with all at once, which makes me a bit nervous about how well or badly it turned out. Hopefully not too horrendusly._

_I thought it was time to give Jeff some repsonsibility in this one, since Nick and Trent have been running around trying to protect him all the while :')_

_Just to be clear, nothing is happening to Sebastian. He's not having some sort of melt down. Just, for the first time in his life, he is being forced to face all the hurt and all the heartache his life ha entailed thus far, and that he had forced onto others aswell, without really knowing how to deal with it. This isn't the last we have seen of his spitefulness. He still has once ace left up his sleeve. _

_Disclaimer: I still own nothing. I make no profit if enjoyment does not count. _

_As always; hope you enjoy :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Chap<strong>**ter**** 4:**

_We Are Free. And We're Running With Blood On Our Knees._

* * *

><p>That night, sleep eluded Sebastian, as it always did when not carried upon the wings of oblivion. For the first time since his arrival at Dalton, he defected his usual nightly haunt for solitude, until the inability to rest had, at 2am, compelled him to face bitter nightly air without direction.<p>

He didn't know where it was that he had wound up; what wrong turn he had taken upon the familiar roads, and yet, his only fear was somehow finding himself back at the beginning. He didn't want to go back. And so he carried on walking, without any clear definitive of what he was actually endeavouring to escape from.

The promenade was a ghostly vision in the night; full of mourning and silence: haunted by the memories of too many souls unrestful, come here to find their salvation.

Night time transformed everything, like the flip of a coin, bringing one sight into two worlds of meaning.

The cold, indifferent waters were like a sediment of black ink unstirred, adorning the entire image with a disdainful quality. The sky was a void – a new moon, the darkest portion of the cycle: a birth which began in death. Even the wind had surrendered, finding no sustainable breath in the coldness. It was an empty hour of an empty life.

Sebastian shivered severely through the thin polyester shirt which constituted his only protection against the extreme temperature. However, he felt too reckless to care for his own immanent danger, as something within him hungered for self persecution.

He was spinning wildly out of control; falling apart from within. He knew it. He could feel it. He had in the last few days felt, like a series of minor deaths, each subsequent piece of himself disintegrate, and without being able to do a darn thing to stop it. He just wanted it to stop. Was this what a breakdown felt like?

No. He was sure he was not even owed that mercy. Because all that this forced upon him was clarity, when he would have gladly taken insanity. He knew he had a problem, but now, he was forced to confront it, and it made for ugly viewing. His sins were numerous and maybe even pitiful; that he did not know where one hangover ended and another began; that he sold his lust to strangers in order just to feel _something_, anything close to love, even in its most sullied and sordid form, even if he had to degrade himself to do it. They were hardly the traits of a spotless mind.

He didn't know how, or even when it had all began; both demons had had their hooks in him for as long as he could remember – one of their youngest victims – but one thing that he _did_ know, with any kind of conviction, was that, when he had first stood upon that cruel precipice; suspended in the merest window of salvation, no-one had cared enough about him to pull him back, and so, he had leapt.

He had not known what he was getting himself into, and now it was too late to stop. He was hooked.

He had to stop. He wanted to stop. But maybe he didn't love or respect himself enough to stop. How had he ended up like this? Was any one life ever destined for ruin at the start?

His muscles burned and every subsequent breath became harder and harder to draw until he had to stop. He sank down onto a rude public bench, fashioned in memory of a life, overlooking the motionless black expanse, and as the shivers continued to rack through him unabated, a weariness finally seemed to envelop him also, offering release. It was one call to sleep, however, he knew he could not heed, but the lethargy in itself was welcome.

He scooped up a handful of gravel, sifting it through his fingers so that all the smaller particles dispersed and he was left with a collection of small pebbles, which he tossed one by one into the lake. The small sound was magnified and echoed in the silence, and the waters were found only to look more furtive in movement, but somehow, the action soothed his turbulent mind.

The guilt – for now, he recognised it for what it was – would not abate long enough to give him rest. Rather it revelled in its new potency and freedom, and in his weakness to resist. Made two-fold now, it was even more unbearable. Blaine, he had never intended to hurt, so maybe guilt was an acceptable response; expected even.

But _her_, her he had intended to strike all along, and in the action he had relished it, more than even imagination could propone. So why, therefore, did it torture him now? Because he admired her? Because there was something between them, too animal for words, which bound them? Because beneath that hostility and anger against the world, she, unlike himself, still retained some shade of difference; an infinitesimal virtue, buried deep? Because for all her cunning, she hadn't even seen it coming, reducing the fierce figure into a victim?

Was he developing a conscience? He blanched at the thought. Conscience only ever caused people hurt; was hurting him right now. He had lived his life thus far without one, given up all rights of vulnerability and made himself impenetrable. Why, if at any time it would develop, would it in the midst of terrible events from which there was little chance of redemption? Just to torture him? Why had victory turned sour in the attainment?

It seemed impossible, but yet it had to be true. He perceived now the battlefield, before it was littered with casualties; a premonition, a warning in advance. Why else would she persist to trouble him? She was nothing to him, nothing but a worthy advisory; a sport. No … this ran deeper than her, she was just its representative; a figment to distract away from the real pain.

Even upon meeting him for the first time, Sebastian had known that Blaine Anderson would change him, but he had never thought it would be in this way. He didn't want guilt, he didn't want conscience, he didn't want to confront and deal with all the pain which slowly poisoned him against every virtue of life.

For the first time in his living memory, he was afraid, afraid of what his mind might dredge up now that its restraint was broken.

Blaine Anderson was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. He had simultaneously opened his eyes to life and brought the same down around him in ruins. He hated him only as much as he loved him; the most unhealthiest of obsessions.

For the first time, Sebastian in himself, felt dangerous; as if, somewhere down the line, the reigns of reason had been handed over to temperamental impulse; as if he was one ill-turned phrase away from the damnation of reprehensible actions, from which there would be no absolution. It was an incarnation which was little known to himself; both distressing and severe.

He wanted desperately to escape it, to escape a multitude of other things besides – drown himself in the bottom of a bottle and embrace unconsciousness; the form of dreamless sleep he favoured. But then, that was part of the problem; the tendency towards repression, to run from and bury his problems rather than facing them with fortitude. Was that the reason he had ended up here? Had Nick been right? Was he really no more than a coward?

Each shot became harder, and he threw the pebbles further. The action which began as a form of soothing repetition, was now transformed into a series of angry bursts synchronised with each ragged exhale. The waters writhed and angered in the throes of a contained storm weathering a deadly rainfall.

All of this was Nick's fault; why his jaw ached so persistently. Why he had been forced to question the conviction of his actions in the first place. Why he had been compelled into coercion with an undesirable party, in effort to try and subdue them, and who, ultimately, were responsible for losing him the respect and admiration of the Warblers as a whole. For now, he perceived it clearly that he _was_ losing them.

Why, therefore, did Nick deserve to be happy? To keep his secrets. To fall in love and have it reciprocated. Why did he deserve all of these things when every one of them was denied to Sebastian? Why did Nick deserve to win?

He thought back to the words that the brunette had offered in spite only yesterday;

'_One day soon your world will come to ruins around you.'_

'Soon,' had been the optimum term, but neither had appreciated with what rapidity it would come. There was no doubt, no chance of argument; this marked the inception of his defeat. And the worst part was, maybe he had brought it all on himself …

'_Whose going to be there to help you pick up the pieces when you're less than nothing?'_

The answer was; no-body. Had always been no-body. No-body, because he had burnt those bridges long ago. He had never learned to be anything other than destructive; and the child, after all, was father of the man.

He swore into the night, a colourful string of profanities, which would only ever suffer addition with age and cynicism. But was he calling out in anger? Or was he calling out for help?

He shouted himself hoarse before he fell silent. It was useless. If he wanted anything to change, then first he had to find his way out of the darkness, rather than drowning himself in it, because right now, he was just making a lot of senseless noise.

And with this revelation, the tone of his mood shifted, and suddenly, it was not fatigue holding him to the mercy of that cold, hard bench; that empty space of time. It was not the bitter cold which seized his bones and muscles with paralysis. It was not even the scarcity of breath he had to fight every moment to procure. It was the crushing weight of moroseness, and it hit him hard.

Thus far, he had gone through life numb; a thing defective, without feeling, which had committed repugnant and reprehensible acts just for the purpose of trying to evoke some form of response in himself. But a living hell was only tolerable as long as no comparison was offered; if no knowledge existed that things could be better. Blaine, however, had taken that from him, both liberating and condemning him in a single stroke.

It felt like he had been dead his entire life, and in meeting Blaine, was reborn; extended a second chance at living. The former Warbler had been everything his legacy professed and more; a person whose perfection even reality could not ravage. He had opened Sebastian up to the _possibility_ of happiness, the very _idea_; had made him receptive to every glorious and positive emotion in the spectrum, so that he had hardly known himself …

But now, all of that was over, and he couldn't accept it, didn't want to accept it. He couldn't move forwards, and he certainly wasn't going back, even if the price of remaining stationary was like dying a second death.

The more tenaciously he clung to the memory, the less its credibility held firm, until it seemed he could have only imagined it, for wasn't it invariably true that he had been eternally and without intermission at remonstrance with the world?

That anger, guilt, fear and malcontent (all observed in the ostracism; the emptiness of the night) were the first emotions he had felt in a decade, longer, perhaps. And all of a sudden, he was no longer sure that the numbness wasn't preferable.

He had to move, forced himself to move, and the movement was agony, so that he cried out. Was this the pain of retribution? An ice cold sensation which burned as it froze.

He stumbled forwards on stiff legs; an old man bowed under the weight of time. A reduced figure of glory; reduced into ash; reduced into nothing. He had to go back, and yet he could not transform that thought into a conscious effort to turn his feet.

That same recklessness spurred him onward, revealing a malignancy as dangerous as drinking himself into a coma. His abstinence didn't matter, because he always just found another self-destructive pastime to fill the vacancy of its predecessor. When there was nothing else around him left to destroy, he turned that destruction inwards. He was the poster-boy for an early grave, burning through his life at an excellerated rate. He knew it, and yet, why couldn't he stop it? He _had_ to stop.

He swallowed, only to find his mouth parched. He was colder than he could ever remember being in his life, so cold he ceased to notice it in fact. Too cold even to shiver. His wreck of a body was exhausted at just seventeen. He wondered how long it took for hypothermia to set in. Wondered why he was even willing to risk it.

Maybe he really did need help. But, from who? Everyone in his life he had pushed away, and for what reason? Because when he had needed _them_ most _they_ had pushed him out of theirs? Was that it? Were we, all of us, a product of our upbringing, after all? Learning what out parents' behaviour teaches? Treating others how we ourselves had been treated?

He didn't even feel enough affection towards them for hate. Simply, they were nothing to him, less than nothing, less than even an idea of nothing. But was it possible that _they_ had done this to him? That he was not a man born corrupted to the core, but had simply become this way as a defence?

Rain was falling now, bringing with it a new sensation of coldness. It hit the ghastly promenade in a hale of bullets, only succeeding in furthering the metaphor for his life which this inconsequential setting represented. In seconds he was saturated, and yet, he _still_ didn't turn back.

He pretended he didn't need anybody, but that was a lie, forged to conceal the reality – maybe even from himself – that he _had_ no-body; a mere compensation for spite.

No-body could go through the trials of life alone, and what's more, they shouldn't have to, for it was that ability towards love and towards friendship which set up apart; made us the paragon of animals. Yet Sebastian _was_ alone, had always been alone, so far as he could figure it.

Except … maybe the Warblers had sort of been like family … brothers, perhaps, in an exceedingly loose sense. Because family _was_ a unit of people sharing a common interest, wasn't it? He had always thought it was the songs which temporarily lifted up his heart, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was the people. Maybe their admiration had meant something to him. Maybe he had valued their company …

It came to him as a revelation, right out of the darkness: he needed them. In both the familiar and estranged sense. Familiar, because they alone cared whether he lived or died, they alone knew Sebastian as a person, even if he was an undesirable one, and not merely a name. Estranged, because the Warblers as a notion, was the only thing he had ever really cared about.

It was ironic really, that he only came to realize just how much he needed them when he was on the brink of losing them.

Through the haze came a figure, distorted by the rain. Sebastian momentarily questioned who would be abroad in these conditions, in these lonely hours other than himself.

And as he looked, he thought he could descry those dark curls swept back and tamed, those laughing eyes piercing him even at a distance; condemning him. He swallowed hard as an unnatural heat engulfed him … _Blaine_? Was it possible?

He forced his eyes closed, calling his mind to focus. No. It wasn't possible.

When he opened them again, the fictitious image was banished, and in Blaine place, _she_ stood. Her dark hair billowed, caught in the throes of some none-existent storm, and the crimson liquid which dripped from her face had never less resembled slush.

Stricken, he forced his eyes closed for a second time, and then, she was gone too, and the image merely betrayed an unshaven man, stumbling through his own induce delusion; as drunk as Sebastian wished he himself could be. When he closed his eyes for a third time, the image did not yield.

But it was too late, fear had already taken him like a rampant virus, and he was running, as fast as his cold ravaged body could bare. Finally, he was turned around, and this time, he knew exactly what he was running from, what he had always been running from:

Silence, solitude and himself – the only three things in the world he was afraid of. The only three things he could not hide from, could not confront, and could not escape.

He invited scorn and disdain over geniality, why? Because anything which found its base in anger was more flagrant, more sustainable and more easily incited than any such positive equivalent. Also, it was easier, the automatic response to an abrasive personality such as his own. He would extend no pains for friendship, because none had ever been extended to him.

Faster, harder, until he couldn't breath, and his legs gave way beneath him. He sat gasping beside the waters edge, the twisted rails pressing cruel indentations into his back, forming the only division between the empty air and a new appreciation of cold. What was happening to him?

He felt it then,, like liquid amber seeping from the wounds of a stricken tree, like steam boiled up to the surface of a geyser. He blinked away the moisture, swallowed past the tightness in this throat, and then a single tear fell.

He had not cried in more than a decade, forgotten he even had the ability to. But as each one fell, more in abundance now, it was like the leaching of poison from a wound. Cleansing. Healing

~ * … * ~

In the emptiness and silence of the washed out parking lot, their hands touched for an infinitesimal moment. It was a movement both bold and hesitant; both completely inexperienced and familiar. They laughed nervously and looked away blushing.

This had formed the tone of their morning thus far:consumed by stolen glances and caresses, until it had seemed they found themselves in a reality moving independently to anyone else's. Everything seemed so unbelievably new, when really, nothing was new at all: nothing but a name.

Neither could dissuade their ecstasy as they took in the dull vision of Dalton's car park with an accustomed eye; for not even the weather could ravage their content, though it was certainly trying. A rain-front, come across in the night, had persisted through the morning, and now formed the reason behind their delay. But what was that when compared to waking for the first time in the arms of a friend, turned lover?

The connection between them had been instantaneous, as if every necessary foundation of their relationship had been long ago cultivated and established within them, and had simply lain dormant, waiting for ages revelation. They had never been in love before, at least, not on the scale of this, and yet, somehow, it all came so naturally; even when they were clueless. Love was one of those things which even made specialists of fools. Was made both easier and harder because it _wasn't_ comparable.

Now the only thing left for them to do, was to bring the rest of the world into their confidence; to weather the sea and the storm and the sun. It was a prospect somehow less daunting and more terrifying that revealing ones feelings to the object. But, everything in good time, and for now; baby steps.

"Trent! We have to go, otherwise they'll think we aren't coming," Nick called from under the eaves, wrapping his jacket closer around himself in an attempt to stave off the biting cold which accompanied the rain.

He invited a tone of impatience into his voice in effort to mask the amusement, but it was a measure unsuccessful. He and Jeff shared a glance, and looked away laughing. Their sassy Warbler was a born comedian, even when he was being entirely serious.

"But, I haven't found it yet …" came the pitiful moan from within the depths of the communal cloakroom behind. The search for the elusive umbrella continued in much the same fashion as if had for half an hour previous; without results.

"It's not raining _that_ much," Jeff countered, crossing his fingers. And it wasn't, so long as you considered that it had been heavier an hour ago.

Nick raised an eyebrow at him; Trent wasn't going to buy that …

"Are you kidding me? It's like a monsoon!" Came the incredulous reply.

Jeff shook his head grinning, before reassuring;

"Only sugar melts in the rain you know …"

Nick had to bite his lip in order to retain any semblance of composure, and even then it was a close margin.

"Maybe so." And then an accent stole itself into Trent's voice which he had never possessed, but which emerged broad and fully articulate: "But I's jest washed ma hair."

It was too much. Nick and Jeff dissolved into a peel of laughter; gripping their sides and each other for support. The sound rung out across the deserted space like music to the silence: uplifting even the morbidity of the weather for an instant.

It was true that Trent was being completely earnest. In the three years they had known him, that had been convinced that there was not another person living more particular about their hair. And then, of course, they had met Kurt.

Nick recovered first and through deep breaths reasoned;

"Well, than, a little more water wont make any difference …"

Begrudgingly, it had to be said, Trent emerged. He spared the cantankerous sky's a mutinous glance, before slipping off his jacket in one defiant movement and holding it above his head like a canopy. After a moments hesitation, Nick and Jeff conceded and mirrored him.

They stood as three figures staring out into the storm. The rain fell so heavily and so persistently that it appeared to form a mist, and the petulant, charcoal sky only spoke of more yet to come. The wind was picking up by the hour; visible as ripples in the veil.

They looked between each other for a second, steeling their will for the plunge. And then, completely ad lib, they yelled simultaneously:

"GO!" and leapt out into the swell.

They ran with laughter upon their lips, and the wind fighting against them at every step, whipping back the sleeves of their jackets with such ferocity it was as if some monstrous, invisible beast held them back in restraint. They were soaked within five yards of the porch.

Jeff's car was housed in the furthest quarter of the parking lot, for the most part disused. Bought as a sixteenth birthday present so that his parents need no longer extend the pains of picking him up at the end of each semester. It was functional, without the pretence of being fancy, unlike Sebastian's which was, first and foremost, for show. Bought almost new, it was a tincture of metallic cobalt and had probably clocked up less miles than a person could walk in a month.

Maybe Jeff recognised it for what it was; a brutal thrust into a state of responsibility he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to bare.

Whatever bitter feeling may or may not have been held for that inconsequential motor, however, were discounted in a surge of gratitude, as they alighted inside its confines with relief; shivering.

Immediately, Jeff cranked up the heat to its optimum, and for an instant they, each of them, just sat, peeling the suddenly adhesive layers away from their cold skin, and allowing it to envelope them. Nick rode shot gun, and Trent was resigned to the rear.

Even given the horrendous conditions, Jeff's driving was a dream; as smooth as riding upon air – an extension of his even and constant personality put into motion. It was a world away from Sebastian's, even as today was a lifetime away from yesterday.

Jeff didn't speak throughout; listening with reserve to the directions of a sat nav which none of them really trusted, scanning the periphery intensely; trying to descry which shapes commanded density and which were mere illusions, conferred by the weather and dankness. He was the epitome of cautious competence.

As the minutes passed by, Trent closed his eyes, lulled by the monotonous rhythm. If you couldn't see the world sprinting by, it felt like you were barely moving at all.

And all the while, Nick watched the blonde with shameless admiration, drunk on the novelty that it was no longer necessary to hide. How could one small space contain their depth and breadth of feeling and suffer no harm to itself? For, though Jeff's gaze never left the road, always was his body inclined towards Nick's, and that same electricity flowed through them in one unbroken current.

Jeff was beautiful. A thrill ran through him at being able to admit it, even to himself. And now, also, he was his, or rather, they were each others … Just like that.

He had thought the victory would change him; _must_ forge a new identity inside the shell of his original left void, one which would separate the platonic vision of Jeff he had so long entertained, from the romantic vision which was now his reality. But he had been wrong. Love was often founded first in friendship, and though everything seemed new, nothing really was different. It was all just interpretation.

Trent was someone who they had known automatically they could confide in, known that they would receive from him a blessing both heartfelt and sincere, and yet, they had kept their silence. Why?

They knew they were being unfair to him; that he _deserved_ to know, but the words were just not forthcoming. It was a reluctance born of fear and defensiveness; because thus far, it remained _their_ moment; undiluted and unsullied by secondary opinion, and because, once confessed, they could never take it back. But they _had_ to tell him …

Kurt was waiting for them upon the doorstep when they arrived, seeming somehow both completely out of place and absolutely essential to the grand establishment Blaine called home.

Trent thought with amusement, that if you squinted your, eyes turned you head slightly to the left and envisioned a few more ornaments upon the lawn, then you could almost imagine them living there together.

He stood back as they ran through the rain. But instead of passing him upon the threshold as he had been expecting, they each fell upon him in a simultaneous embrace.

He protested their affection only half-heartedly, succeeding in nothing but causing them to laugh and pull him closer;

"This sweater's dry clean only: it's Coco Channel! The fibre's will perish with the amount of water you're dripping on me!" But eventually, he quelled his own protestations and just hugged them back, because if Sebastian was the cost, then this undoubtedly was the victory.

When they finally released him, they were chivvied into the kitchen and handed a freshly laundered towel to dry off with, but not before they had been relived of their jackets, it truth be told, rather forcefully.

The scent of pine detergent reminded Jeff so vigorously of the previous night that he was momentarily overwhelmed. As his senses had became more acute to compensate for the loss of a brother, a new depth of perception had been bestowed upon him, and had compelled him to appreciate at length, every single woven layer of that scent, which he had once assumed to be flat. And somewhere, along the line of memory, it had become incontrovertibly caught up with his representation of Nick.

In smelling it, he tried to win back that moment, but this scent was manufactured; _was_ flat.

"Lovely day," Trent quibbed. And then, abandoning any further attempts to preserve it even as a lost cause, he simply towelled his hair into disarray. Nick could almost fell him and Kurt wince.

"Beautiful," Kurt agreed, dryly, pushing three steaming mugs of hot chocolate laced with marshmallows and cinnamon essence towards them, before reclaiming his own.

It was one of those simple gestures which were so much greater than themselves. And it forcefully reminded them all just how much they missed their former counter-tenor, who upon the surface had been made hard by a lifetimes mistreatment and prejudice, but within, retained the purest heart of gold.

Things changed, and most of the time when we considered it, our biggest grief was over the loss of the past.

Blaine slept soundly two floors above; exhausted after a rough night. So, for a while, they sat in the beautifully stylish kitchenette, talking and drinking in the ambiance.

Sipping their hot chocolate with relish, they marvelled at how the precise angle with which the spotlights struck the black granite worktops caused every trailing vein to stand out in sharp relief. Dalton's fees were steep, and therefore, it was a given that its attendees went home to houses a little more up-market than your average two-up, two-down. But this was something else.

The flowing contours of the dwelling, while aesthetically pleasing, were not what made the house remarkable, as was often the charm of architecture. No, what made it remarkable was the evident consideration with which even the most seemingly insignificant fixture had been chosen and designed. It was a house made grand by adornment, created with love and with pride. And yet, Blaine left barely any imprint upon it …

They learned that Kurt had been staying there since Blaine had been discharged, as Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were out at work for the greater portion of the day, and their parental interest did not extend far enough as to even considering taking time off to care for their ailing son.

There were dark circles beneath his eyes, just discernible through copious amounts of concealer, and a certain strain in his forced neutral expression, which he would not permit to enter into his manner.

This had been hard upon the all, there was no denying, but maybe even through the worst, he had found hope – turned the cruel present into a glorious vision of the future …

"I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow," he confessed sadly; an insecurity come to light which seemed almost too delicate for admission. "I don't want to leave him. How am I even supposed to concentrate on anything when the only thing I'll be thinking about is him, here, _alone_? I know its ridiculous, because I know he's safe, but I guess what Sebastian did just makes me question everything."

The pain and guilt in his expression was so raw that it almost moved them to tears, and his voice shook, as if he cursed himself for admitting this weakness even to a friend. Kurt and Blaine both, were trying to keep each other strong, but with little regard to what it was actually doing to themselves.

None of them really knew what to say; how to reassure him, and as Nick and Trent searched the reserves of knowledge for some significant words of consolation which would make fate easier to bare; Jeff read the scene in a way only his compassion could.

He laid his hand upon Kurt's shoulder and gripped it tight. Even despite himself, Kurt answered the gesture with a smile.

"Thank you," two such heartfelt words had never been spoken, "it means a lot to _both_ of us that you came."

And Nick knew he had been right: that if anyone could convince a man to trust again, it was Jeff.

Barely half an hour passed before a demure call met their ears:

"Kurt … ?" Peculiarly, it didn't seem to expect a reply.

At his invitation, they followed Kurt up to the third floor bedroom where Blaine resided; hesitating at the door while the former went inside.

This beautiful house held a mournful ambiance for them, because suddenly, they were frightened of confronting the damage wanton destruction had wrought. It was as if their representation of Blaine had been sullied by the events and was now found repugnant. But that wasn't fair, because none of this had been his fault.

Then, came the voice from within, calm, tender and so full of love that it characterised every syllable;

"_I thought you might have gone."_

"_And, where do you think I would go?"_

"_Home_." It was as one an implore to stay and an implore to go.

"_Now why would I want to do that when _you're_ here?"_

The conversation was like a reminder; that though a classic song may become altered and changed by an artists cover, it did not mean that the original suddenly ceased to exist. Nor that you couldn't shun the later versions for the preference of one you grew up loving.

Made brave by that conviction, they stepped inside.

The wallpapers vertical slats of midnight blue absorbed and exuded the dankness of the day. It was a room which would be made alternatively regal and morose by the seasons, and once would have reflected its state of systematic occupancy. Like everything in the stylish abode, it was lived in without being expressive.

Kurt was fixing the pillows into a comfortable position behind Blaine's back, murmuring softly. When he moved away to open the curtains, the four friends eyes met across the room; full of the pains of victory and sorrow.

Blaine was pale and drawn, and seemed somehow insignificant and broken, buried in the swaths of the king-size. But the most arresting detail of his appearance was the eye patch he wore; a constant reminder of the cost.

Sebastian must have known the damage the rock salt laced beverage would cause, and yet he had thrown it anyway. What kind of a person did that make him?

Nevertheless, Blaine grinned at them, that same familiar smile they remembered, seeming, if anything, mildly surprised at their presence.

"I didn't know you guys were here already."

"Sweetheart, it's one in the afternoon," Kurt told him chuckling slightly. He passed around the room like whirlwind of order, straightening everything with a keep particularity in the presence of guests. It was a finicky quality which Blaine found absolutely adorable.

The curly haired boy frowned momentarily, trying to make up the hours, before shrugging in a self mocking way and merely letting it slide. For an instant, they all simply looked at one another, drinking in the details: even in four months of speaking but never seeing, something had changed within each of them. The pieces still bonded but the image was left without cohesion.

Finally he met Trent's eye and laughed;

"I know, I know, you have a hundred eye-patch related jokes. Don't worry, Finn and Puck already beat you to it, but maybe yours will be better."

Kurt's laugh suggested that anything would be better than what those two had come up with.

How could they do it? How could they remain so blazay in the face of all that had happened?

Trent could not understand what Blaine had read in his expression, because the truth was, he had never felt like less joking. Maybe it was a plea for normality, or, at least, the pretence of such. But he couldn't do it, he just couldn't do it. He chocked and the silence lengthened; becoming uncomfortable.

Blaine looked upon him with a curious expression; a wounded man who perceived the fear in his comrades eyes.

Nick cast around wildly for something, _anything_ to say, which might break the silence that told them this had been a bad idea. But once again, it was Jeff who stole the words, and his heart anew.

He who had seen less of the evilness of men and whose heart knew fewer sins, could more readily forget; blind himself to truth for the kindness of compassion.

With a manner as easy and natural as breathing, he crossed the room and alighted upon the foot of Blaine's bed, grinning;

"I like it," he laughed, while also seeming to give the matter serious consideration. "It kind of makes you look like a modern day pirate. Though without the scurvy, the bad personal hygiene and the pillaging."

Blaine raised an eyebrow and chuckled, his jocular persona reinstated;

"Thanks … I think?"

With his critical eye appeased, Kurt sidled over to his boyfriend, draped one arm around Blaine's shoulders and kissed his nose delicately;

"I'd take it as a compliment. Piracy has never looked so appealing."

It had not been merely his sensitive nature which had compelled Jeff to reach out, Nick noted, but something new entirely. Was it possible that love could have remade him? Gave the shy boy back his confidence which sacrilegious events had taken? Made the social awkwardness which Nick found endearing, but was so tedious to him, unremarkable? It was true that love made impossible things happen, that it had done so already in finding Nick at home within himself. So why couldn't the same be true in reverse?

Love would be the making of them, and the journey had only just began.

When Nick finally tore his eyes away from the blonde, it was to find Blaine watching him and Trent; a solemn expression marring his countenance. For one minute only he allowed his guard to fall; sympathy absolving sympathy.

"I'm okay; _really_," he reassured them earnestly, his tone imploring them to trust; washing over them like a gentle rain proceeding months of drought. "Just a little sore. The eye patch makes it seem so much worse than it actually is, trust me. It takes a little while, but eventually, you sort of get used to it; you don't notice it as much." Then he turned to Kurt who was pressed comfortably against his side, "I guess Rachel is the only one who appreciates the dramatics of it all." They shared a laugh.

But the semantics of Blaine's words spoke louder than their literal counterparts. They said that it was okay to feel aversive, that no shame was borne in their silence, for both were enemies he himself had had to fight and conquer, were responses he understood; could not blame.

And for the first time, they understood also, that Kurt and Blaine's strange unperturbed spirit was not a front; not a pretence; not even a persona to hide behind in fear of confronting reality, but was in fact, their reality itself; their means of reconciliation. It was not that the terrible events did not hurt them, but rather that they hurt them too much, and in experiencing that pain, they had found the strength to rise above it, becoming figures of dignity and praise, so much greater than the world had painted them. Everything was a choice, and they had made theirs; not to be beaten by the callousness of Sebastian Smythe, not to let him come between them; the one place where he wanted to be. It was a quiet oath, but maybe all the more powerful for its reserve. And Nick, Jeff and Trent admired them for it.

The one thing Sebastian seemed persistently to discount was the fact that; in suffering, the sufferer often became stronger. It was the weakness of the tyrant that he could never see.

They moved towards the bed, easier of heart and mind now; mirroring Jeff's manner of situate with Trent upon the left and Nick between them. For a moment, beneath the folds, Jeff's hand captured Nick's; reassurance and admiration passing between them both.

They were, all of them, victims of a cruel plot; but whose honour had made them hero's in their own right.

"What does it feel like?" Trent ventured after a sufficient time so as not to seem insensitive. Morbid curiosity really was the worst and most persistent form, made all the more compelling for its inappropriateness. Something which he just couldn't subdue. He really had to learn to bite his tongue.

Nick and Jeff looked at him with covert trepidation. In situations such as this, was it better to remember or forget?

Blaine however, did not seem in the least put out by the question. Instead he just cocked his head to the side as if considering how much to reveal to an afflicted conscience. Finally he answered with a languid tone, which was in direct contrast with his words, working to cancel them out;

"It hurts, I wont deny that. Most of the time it feels like there are a thousand tiny shards of metal lodged in my eye, and each time I blink it drives them in deeper. But the worst part is the frustration, I think, because the automatic response is to rub it, to do anything to alleviate the discomfort, except I cant. It's quite distracting actually, like having an itch you just can't scratch."

And then he laughed, which was an expression so stark in comparison to the heavy words he had spoke in easy tone, that they merely blinked at him in incredulous response. Somewhere down the line, Blaine had become the very embodiment of antithesis. Maybe it had been Sebastian's influence, Maybe it had always been innate, and just never before given prominence. Maybe it was born from the cost of your heart finding home in two places.

"Did you know, having monocular vision, as well as reducing your peripheral sight to only around 60% also affects your depth perception?" He grinned in that same self mocking way. "About half an hour after we got home, Kurt was making me something to eat when his phone rang. I shouted him but he didn't answer. Realizing he couldn't hear me, I got up to take it to him. Except, I misjudged the proportions of the doorway and walked right into it."

He carefully lifted the disarrayed bangs off his forehead to reveal a prominent lump which was quickly gaining colour. They were certain that if his eye hadn't been covered they would have observed the downward continuum of the bruise, like ink spilt across the skin. Nick whistled appreciatively, it was one to rival his own.

"Knocked myself out pretty good." He nuzzled into Kurt's shoulder for a moment, while the other boy stroked his hair affectionately. When he looked up again, his eyes were alight with mirth and his tone was ever so slightly teasing; "Kurt of course was _frantic_. I nearly got chauffeured back to the ER there and then."

Now _that_, they laughed at. Meanwhile Kurt merely looked mildly indignant and Blaine grinned at him in a disarming fashion. For all his sensitivity, compassion and tenderness, their former counter-tenor did have a tendency towards the iridescent flare of theatrics, which made his nature a rival comic and complimentary companion to Trent's.

Kurt rolled his eyes, even as he admitted with a bashful earnestness;

"It did really scare me though. I've seen enough visions of Blaine on the floor to last me a lifetime."

It was in comments such as these that he revealed the cost of what had happened; peace of mind, security; things which could not easily be reimbursed. He revealed just how much he needed Blaine, there, to remind him that things hadn't turned out any worse, and the extent of anguish going through the motions of living, alone, even for this brief period, would exact upon him.

Then, he looked at Blaine with such a tender and loving expression that all three of them felt their hearts stir in response.

"I can't even leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"

"Nope," Blaine agreed happily, "not even for one second." And he moved as if to brush his fingers softly across Kurt's porcelain cheek, but overshot the gesture and instead rapped them smartly against the headboard.

He sighed in mild exasperation, and Trent seized the opportunity, eager to make up the deficit;

"God Blaine, accident prone much?"

The former Warbler offered him a quirky smile, before his expression became abruptly serious, and his voice carried a weight and prognosis they had never heard it bare before;

"In a way though, I'm glad it was me."

They all looked at each other in turn and then back at him; frowning; confused.

"Why?" Jeff asked with an affected tone.

"Because it was better me than Kurt." With surprising accuracy, especially after his previous performance, he laid his hand over Kurt's mouth to stem the vehement protests he knew the admission would incite.

Kurt expressed them anyway; comprehensible only as a series of garbled sounds, which, even then, still managed to allude to indignity.

"I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to him; especially if I had seen it coming and done nothing." His words were painfully sincere.

Jeff fixed Nick with a significant expression; one eyebrow raised. The brunette blushed. What could he say? People would do anything to protect the ones they loved.

"And because it made me realize what Sebastian was really like," Blaine continued in a more hateful tone, "_now_, before it's too late; before anyone else gets hurt."

_Sebastian_. That name circulated like a curse, hissed by five mouths in turn. And then, there was no more avoiding it. Now was the time for truths to be spoken and heard.

Being the most central to it, Nick took up the story, with copious additions and enrichments from the memories of Jeff and Trent. He spared no details, and appeased the conscience of none in the confession of his soul. Working systematically, they painted with sombre words, a regretful representation of the four days past, revealing to their cause the very best and worst of themselves.

Kurt and Blaine lived every single constitution of emotion in that regaling. Lived them all a million times over. Were shocked into silence at one turn, stirred into vehemence at the next. Faced down horror and victory wearing the masks of one another and speaking in tongues. Expressed disbelief in the house of conviction, and conviction in the house of conjecture. But, most prominently, were they bowled over by the depth of loyalty which had been shown to them by a party of friends who chance could have so easily also made into enemies. And chocked by gratitude, were their words made even more sincere.

They cheered at Nick's confession of striking Sebastian; sympathised with the pains and victory of their long walk home (and having once performed a Gaga number in ten inch heels, Kurt particularly fretted over the agony of uncompromising footwear); expressed incredulity at the vicious and twisted nature of Sebastian's games, and trepidation towards their ends; were outraged by the congratulatory scene Nick and Jeff had witnessed between confederates; and were bemused by the second meeting of the Warblers and New Directions, of which they had known nothing. But, for the most part, they kept their silence. The admission of Sebastian's treachery, however, was one liberty too far.

"Rock salt? That …" Kurt swore colourfully, which caused all of them, Blaine included, to turn towards him and raise an eyebrow in surprise. He was too angry to care, however, as he called Sebastian for everything until he was quite literally blue in the face and scant of breath; combustions kiss burned out.

Meanwhile, Blaine just appeared sombre, as if his emotions were too complex for expression, as if he didn't quite believe in the conviction of truth any more.

Once again, Sebastian's actions were confirmed as a sin, for they turned even the kindest souls over to the poison of animosity.

So long did the noisome events take to detail that the sun had turned a quarter revolution by the time they were suitably concluded. It was a tale singular to none, saturated with horrifically fantastical motives which belonged more readily to the plot of a novel than to the novelty of living. They had each trailed their souls, and now, they were free.

There was forgiveness, gratitude and sorrow in Kurt and Blaine's eyes, but never blame, never anger, even as the Warbler's each confessed their most reproachable moments. _That_ was what they had been fighting for.

"Guys, I honestly don't know what to say," Blaine intoned emphatically, shaking his head in dazed disbelief, "except; you really didn't have to do that."

Nick shrugged nonchalantly;

"Friendship means a little more to us than mere convenience, I guess. It's as much about responsibility; to defend the objects honour if and whenever the need arises, to take a stand in their absence when they haven't got a voice to argue. They're pretty old values, and I guess they've mostly gone out of style."

"Plus what Sebastian did was _wrong_," Jeff with such a depth of injury and injustice it seemed the earth should bleed. "He should never have gotten away with it. We had to do _something_, even if it didn't change anything, even if it didn't really matter … it was the principle of it."

"Besides," Trent chuckled slightly, "I think Wes would have about eaten his gavel if he found out what had happened, and that we hadn't done a thing about it. Or else rapped us over the head with it and told us he had taught us better than that."

They all sighed wistfully at the memory of this ideal; the Dalton they had known and loved, a utopia which was only further graduated by comparison. While they had it, they had failed to appreciate it as it deserved, and now that it was over, it formed their biggest regret. That was the world to which they belonged; one of tradition, values, acceptance and a zero tolerance policy. They were strangers to the one Sebastian had created; would always be strangers, even if they passed a thousand years there, because his heart was just too corrupt to acquaint. They would never be like him.

"Well, I guess that answers that then," said Kurt, giving an awkward laugh, that was more than anything else, endearing. But when he looked at them, his eyes were devastatingly sincere, and they observed in him an innocence which many would believe the world had long since taken, and the reserves of which they had thought only Blaine capable of revealing.

"Thank you, for _everything_ that you've done. At the beginning of the week we thought there was no-one left at Dalton who were friends to us. Now, at the end of it, I'm glad to be proven wrong." And then, turning to Jeff and smiling in an angelic way which perfectly summed up the beautiful, unravaged nature of their friendship.

"Don't think it didn't mean anything just because it didn't effect the outcome. It means something to us." Jeff beamed.

"Aww shocks," Trent gushed, "carry on like that and you'll have me blushing."

Kurt threw a balled up pair of socks at his head, which the latter was too slow in reacting to avoid.

Often times, Trent had wondered how people didn't end up doing that more often. His aversion to serious conversation was irksome even to himself upon occasion. Why couldn't he just break down the front?

"There is one more thing we can do for you though," Nick continued, feeling his palms moisten and his heart rate quicken at the prospect, which he had never been able to consider with a level head. "We talked it over this morning and …" he hesitated.

He was willing to give it all up for the promise of loyalty. That wasn't the problem. They were all prepared to accept the cost, whatever it might entail for themselves, whatever it might entail for one another. But that didn't mean that the implications were not frightening, not life altering in the worst sense. They were witnesses, and it had been a crime, from which their consciences could not allow them to walk free. Doing the right thing was always worth the cost, wasn't it?

This was so much bigger than them, and it was the realization of that enormity which had conversely changed their minds. Because the withholding of information, for whatever reason, only succeeded in making them guilty of the same crime.

He felt Jeff's hand upon his shoulder and was at once consoled. With this beautiful boy by his side, how could anything ever go wrong? His very tenderness mitigated world order, cast the odds of fate ever in his favour. Whatever Jeff touched was made golden, even if that touch was yet hesitant to the eyes of unsuspecting friends. He took over the proposition.

"And we all know that the only reason Sebastian got away with it was because no-body spoke out against him, right? So, what if we came forward and told them everything? If our story supports what you said, supports the testimony of fifteen other witnesses, then they would have to sit up and take notice, wouldn't they? They'd _have_ to do something."

Blaine's answer was already upon his lips even before Jeff had finished speaking. His expression was serene as he spoke one single word;

"No."

"No?" Jeff repeated uncomprehendingly; desperation staring down the face of calm reassurance. He looked back and forth between Nick and Blaine, inviting either of them to explain. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

Kurt's expression was as stoic as they had ever seen it, but his hold on Blaine shifted in persona, becoming less a form of intimacy and more one of protectiveness; as if he would shield him from encroaching threats which could not yet be perceived. Too emotionally involved and volatile to consider the issue rationally and without bias, he remained reserved. He abdicated the decisive responsibility to the only one among them who could claim the grounds to make it, resolved to support the choice, even if he didn't agree with it.

Love taught one many things. It was a lifetimes course in self betterment.

"Blaine," Nick said slowly, making sure he understood the gravity of his decline, "If we testify, then Sebastian could be convicted. For once in his life, he wont get away with the consequences of his actions. Or, at the very least, he'll be expelled and be out of our lives for good."

Blaine appeared troubled by the prospective fruition of either outcome. Violence should never be reciprocated with violence, not even with justice brought about by violent passions, for in such persuasions justice itself is revoked, turned simply to formal revenge. No, neither eventuality sat well within his conscience, nor did the sacrifice of friends who had given too much already.

"No," he insisted.

Each denial brought Jeff one step closer to devastation; he who had so ardently wished justice for his friends was now denied it by the same.

"I can't ask you to do that. You've already done too much as it stands."

"But you're not asking us," Trent countered, "we're _offering_."

"Then even more; no" It was said with a troubled expression.

Nick, Jeff and Trent looked between one another, confused. Meanwhile, Kurt's eyes warned caution; geared to more of a self-reprimanding nature, they thought. The outspoken person was the hardest one to silence.

Why? Why was Blaine being so resistant to this?

The curly-haired boy leaned towards them with a consoling expression that somehow also managed to appear regal; as if he were a prince lost in a world of thieves. By it they were enraptured and a little coerced. This was the face of one who was taking a stand as the bigger man.

"I know you're disappointed, and I'm really sorry, but I also know Dalton's policy, and I know Sebastian; perhaps better even than he thinks I do. And though you don't mention it, I know what the three of you would be giving up to do it, and it's just not worth it, you're not getting yourselves into trouble for me. Besides, you've seen how far Sebastian will go for a grudge, how far do you think he would go for something like this? No, I don't want to see him convicted and I don't want him to be expelled. In fact, I don't even want to think about him; he's taken up too much of out lives already."

He fell back gratefully into Kurt's waiting arms, sighing as they instinctively wrapped around him. The speech had exhausted him. Sebastian was like a disease; he drained the vitality, the life from all those who associated with him, and from him, Blaine was now slowly recovering. They all were.

Kurt lovingly smoothed aside the wild bangs before kissing his forehead delicately. Every gesture they performed towards one another was characterised by a restrained passion, but it still did and would always retain the demureness and beauty of a first love; still was all about the romance. Nick and Jeff watched them enthralled. Was this a vision of their own future?

"Then what do you want, honey?"

Blaine considered that for a moment, before returning the answer;

"I want us to take justice into our own hands. I want us to beat Sebastian at Regionals, and I want to see the look upon his face when he realizes he has lost everything." It was said with bitterness, but not cruelty. The only triumph he wanted now was a moral one, because victory and loss was the only language communicable to someone like Sebastian. But more than anything, he just wanted the Head Warbler to _see_; that acting out won you no favours in life.

The five boys were silent for a moment, trying to reconcile warring compulsions. Then Blaine realized something and laughed;

"Opps, I guess that came out wrong. I didn't mean that I wanted you guys to lose," he said a little guiltily.

Friendship and rivalry were forces which shouldn't co-exist, but sometimes, they beat all of the odds to do exactly that.

"Why not?" Trent grinned with that particular brand of common sense perception which so often showed its mark in him. "Doesn't every team want their opposition to lose? Actually I kind of think this gives you a more valid excuse than most. If I knew for certain it would really get to Sebastian, somehow, I don't think I'd mind loosing either. Is that terrible?"

They looked at one another before agreeing simultaneously:

"No!" and dissolving into laughter.

"What I don't understand is; why Santana did that …" Blaine said after a time, frowning. "I didn't know she cared so much, and if she did, why go alone? Surely she saw what Sebastian was like?" Blaine's concern was touching, but misplaced.

"I'm sure she saw _exactly_ what he was like," Kurt said with a sort of wry wisdom. "Trust me, if there is anyone who can give Sebastian a run for his money its her. The experience was probably more than thrilling for the both of them, seeing as how they're practically each others gender opposite."

Trent and Nick shared a glance. So apparently the opinion was consensus.

"As for why Santana cares," Kurt continued musingly, "she's pretty hard to work out, but I guess empathy might have something to do with it. Think about it, at school there's me and you, and there's her and Brittany; that's it. Whether we acknowledge it or not, there's something between us; each of us knows the struggle in trying to accept this, and Santana's not quite there yet. The way I see it, by defending us, she's by extension defending her own right to love Brit."

"You make it sound so romantic," Blaine laughed lovingly. Kurt had always thought it was. The most famous actions are always undertaken either for love or for vengeance.

"Wait …" Trent frowned, cocking his head slightly to the side, as if he necessitated a new vantage from which to see the world, "Santana's gay?"

Kurt and Blaine nodded easily, while Nick and Jeff concealed their surprise. Maybe they were not as alone in the world as its stigma would lead them to believe.

"Well there's eleven hearts broken," Trent quibbed. "She caused quite a stir."

"I don't doubt it." Kurt and Blaine shared a laugh, before the former continued in a more subdued tone which carried the bass of guilt; "Although, maybe it was my fault she came up with the idea in the first place."

They each looked at him questioningly, and he grew uncomfortable beneath their gaze.

"It was lunch time on Thursday and I'd been sitting in Miss. Mellers geography classroom for the past hour going over everything in my head, trying to make sense of just some small detail of what had happened, and compiling a list of all the ways I could think of to get back at Sebastian, most of which would have landed me in prison, no less." His voice was bitter, angry and devastated all at once, and Blaine reached out to take his hand, caressing it softly.

"She found me there, and we talked, just talked; I guess she was consoling in her own way. She said she'd help me, but I knew I could never go through with any of it. I've stood up to violence my whole life, turning to it now would have just made me a hypocrite. I told her I had to take the high road, she accepted it, she said even if we wouldn't beat him playing dirty, we _would_ beat him. I didn't know she was planning to confront him." Kurt spoke like he was apologising for all the griefs of the world.

Nick expressed now, a though which he had been mulling over since her lack of reaction;

"Somehow, I think she had a more pressing motive than merely confronting him. She's got a part to play in all of this yet, I just can't figure out to what end."

Which, of course, meant that this wasn't really over, even if their own parts had been retired.

By now, it was four-thirty and the pangs of hunger had taken hold of them all. Kurt, being the gracious host that he was, offered to cook for them, amid assurances of the exemplary nature of his culinary exploits, assurances which Blaine echoed heartily. An order was placed, and the former counter-tenor made his exit with all the airs and graces of a revered chef.

Taking pity upon the plight of ruined hair, even though he himself was bringing back the disarrayed look with style, Blaine offered Trent the unrestricted use of his hair products to right the wrong.

Trent about bear hugged him there and then, and the pain, which even after all this time, had never really left his expression, resolved instantly.

Nick laughed in genial mockery, but Jeff held his tongue, remembering the discretion Trent had shown him the day before; everyone was entitled to their hang ups, and between them, there was an understanding.

Resultantly, Blaine, Nick and Jeff were left alone, and though they traded menial small talk, for the most part, they observed one another in that familiar way which allowed so much, unspoken, to pass between them. A true intimacy of friendship.

To Nick and Jeff, Kurt and Blaine represented an ideal; a plateau of experience, which took each relative succession in turn and with the same un-rushed courage. They represented hope; for the future of themselves; for the future of Nick and Jeff, and for the future of all those who had yet to discover the bravery to take that first monumental step. Their love was something beautiful, something which touched the heart of the nation without either party even realizing. It was effortless, tender, sincere, heart-warming, inspirational, delicate, rare, precious, thrilling and so much more besides. The romances of ages passed were rekindled in them, and they bore the torch for faith, a beacon in the mutable grey of life, which ushered in a new revolution. Their love taught even as it romanticised, it broke down barriers and it shattered stereotypes until it asserted itself as something which could never be beaten into submission, could never be defined and constrained by one, ill-fitting label of choice.

It was their strength which Nick had called upon for inspiration, their courage from which he had drawn his own. They represented everything he wanted and dreamed of for himself and Jeff; a vision of themselves given two years more practice. They were possibility and they were acceptance. What they had was something to strive for, something Nick and Jeff learned day by day to emulate and make their own.

As Blaine looked upon them, he began to notice changes which Sebastian's influence never could have wrought. An ambiance characterised by a serene content which he never remembered, now enveloped them. And hand in hand with that, came a distinct assurance of themselves which found its origin not in conceit, but in truth newly discovered. It was enthralling, even if he couldn't precisely put his finger on why.

"Something's different about the two of you," he said shrewdly, looking between them for some form of indication.

Nick and Jeff felt themselves blush; perhaps they had not been so discreet after all, or perhaps Blaine just knew them too well. Did they dare confess to him? Even baby steps were only possible if you resolved to take the first one, and they were still teetering upon the brink.

Where callous actions had taken away a mans faith in humanity, maybe love could restore it. Maybe Blaine _deserved_ to know, for after all, it was the events surrounding his attack which had opened their eyes to their own perfect happily-ever-after. Perhaps it was the only silver lining in this sordid series of events. Why should they fear to tell?

And yet, there existed the same tongue tied sensation, the same reticent of words and blind panic, which, when considered, seemed more habitual than instinctive.

However, Jeff once again surprised Nick, however, by speaking first.

It was with stalling impart and indecisive words which he spoke, but with more confidence than Nick had ever before observed.

Without thinking, he reached out and touched Jeff's cheek, causing the blonde to smile timidly, and the black haired boy to raise an eyebrow in speculation. Oh to hell with it, Nick decided, it was coming out anyway, and the fact that Jeff had taken the initiative only made the boy so much more astounding to him. The ease with which he had accepted all of this about made Nick delirious with delight.

"Nick and I sort of realized something about each other. Well," he laughed, amending; "Nick did. I can't really take any of the credit, I was kind of oblivious to the whole thing."

Blaine stilled looked between them quizzically, but there was now a distinctly knowing quality in the angle of his expression which was just waiting of validation.

"So, last night, Nick told me he had something he wanted to show me. He led me blind-folded through the old forest until we came to a small clearing where the lake runs into a river. And there, amid candlelight and music … he told me that he loved me, and when his lips brushed against my cheek and left a fire in their wake, I knew I loved him too. It was all really romantic."

By this point Jeff was giggling delightfully, and his cheeks were coloured with a beautiful rose tincture, which gave him a cherubic appearance right out of Greek mythology.

"Well, I do try," Nick mumbled a little embarrassedly. Spoken by Jeff's lips even the same fate sounded so much more glorious and remarkable.

As they spoke, they gravitated towards each other, somehow made hesitant about the prospect of touching in the presence of another. To them, intimacy and affection were yet reserved for the privacy of their own company. It was a bashfulness which made their relationship even more endearing.

"Guys, that's amazing! Congratulations!" Blaine gushed emphatically, grinning from ear to ear. In that one moment, the shadow of all he had suffered was defeated from his countenance. The first sunrise after a long and desolate winter.

They both blushed furiously, even as a smile alighted upon their lips and they glanced shyly at one another. Was this really what they had been so afraid of?

"Thanks," Nick laughed, "It's still early days yet though …" Jeff nodded;

"We're taking things slow."

It was an unspoken agreement between them. They wanted to enjoy the romance, which was so unlike anything they had ever experienced before. All too often, love was rushed, and to what end? It's own spectacular burning out. No, theirs was a love which would endure; a love which would be done properly.

"The best way to take it," Blaine agreed; the voice of experience assured by their wisdom even in novelty. And then, clapping his hands together in a gesture so reminiscent of Kurt himself that they just had to stare, "I'm so happy for you both! You make the most adorable couple, Kurt and I have always said so."

And something within that admission brought back to Nick the same illogical vestige of fear he had experienced when trying to hid this then deemed, devastating revelation from the world. Had his suspicions of suspicion actually, therefore, been valid? Had everybody known even before he himself did?

Jeff laughed easily, as if he found the idea that Kurt and Blaine had always quietly been rooting for them a delightful turn of events:

"You knew?" he asked with surprise.

Blaine grinned modestly, and if truth be told, a little guiltily;

"We had our suspicions. In fact, I remember Kurt one night dreaming up a list of elaborate schemes which would force the two of you together, and make you realize your feelings," he laughed fondly at the memory. "I'll spare you the details."

Indeed Jeff thought he could imagine them pretty well on his own. He looked to Nick, and his joyful expression fell, like a star burning out of heaven; in his boyfriends eyes was the same self doubt he thought their relationship had absolved. It broke his heart in twain, even as it compelled him to do anything to drive it into exile.

"Nicky." He moved towards him, offering the underused pet-name, and endeavouring to ignore the slight discomfort having an audience provided. Wrapping his arms around the brunettes shoulders, he tucked Nick's head beneath the crevice of his chin, it was a position from which he had always drawn comfort.

"It's okay, there's nothing to be afraid of any more. We don't have to hide."

Nick gripped his arm tightly; it was true that Jeff made him feel safe in return, made him feel like maybe the world was not such a hostile place. Why was all of this so hard? How did he expect Jeff to take strength from him in accepting this life changing event, when he couldn't even identify an echo of it within himself?

"I know," Nick told him lovingly, attempting to downplay the issue, "I'm just being stupid. Ignore me."

"You're not being stupid," Jeff told him with feeling. "Nick, you've been so brave. You make _me_ brave."

And though Blaine had remained silent thus far, offering them the privacy of a moment, he then felt the necessity to impart a wisdom which only experience could adequately tell. He spoke unobtrusively, and so that, though he was enveloped by it, he never breeched the inner sanction of their moment; a voice spoken from afar.

"Being in love is amazing, but it doesn't negate the fact that this is a really hard thing to come to terms with. Believe me when I say that everybody struggles, but some people just hide it better, because everybody struggles in their own individual way, and its not always obvious or communicable. But it's okay to feel nervous, apprehensive, to doubt yourself even; in fact, I'd go so far as to say its natural, but what you can't do, is let those feelings take over. There'll always be someone out there ready to tear you down; to make you feel like your worthless, but the thing you have to remember is; for that one person, there'll always be two more who are begging you to hold on. Love's worth it. Believe me, it is."

He inched towards them with awkward, uncoordinated movements, until he knelt directly before them, and they looked up at him, still embracing. They knew it was worth it.

He laid a hand upon each of their shoulders, and they knew then, that despite their initial uncertainty, their representation of him had not and would never change. His kindness and his spirit were infectious.

"You're not alone in this. If Kurt and I can ever help you, no matter how, we will. I promise." And then he laughed. "Without sounding patronising; you two are about the cutest thing I have ever seen."

They blushed again, but his words had done the trick; boosted their confidence to astronomical levels. Their inspiration had unwittingly became their mentors.

"Thank you," they said simultaneously. Blaine offered them a winning smile, but them some thought appeared to strike him which he wondered why he had overlooked;

"Does Trent know?"

Nick and Jeff exchanged culpable glances. By rights should they have told him first? But they hadn't even intended to tell Blaine, not today at least; he had practically worked it out for himself, and then there was no point in denying it. Was, perhaps, the same true of Trent? Was he merely being polite in feigning ignorance?

"We didn't know how to tell people," Jeff confessed shyly, "or even if we were ready to tell them so soon."

Blaine nodded sympathetically, and his voice was soft when he spoke, without even the merest trace of presumption;

"Can I offer you some advice?" They indicated that he could.

"Even if your not ready to make it common knowledge, at least tell those people who you know you can trust. Support can sometimes be hard to come by, and friends are the one network you can, most of the time, take for granted _will_ support you wholeheartedly; friends like Trent especially. He worships both of you, and besides, I think he would really like to know, and hear it from you personally."

They smiled. It was good advice, and they resolved to take it.

Kurt was as true as his word and the meal he delivered was delicious

That the discussion concerning Nick and Jeff blossoming relationship had ever been held, was forgotten with the regrowth of their party. In all things, we begin alone.

They conversed more light-hearted matters now; fond remembrances, anecdotes and various humorous occurrences. And the midnight striped wallpaper now perpetuated the light of a weak winter sun, which had in brief victory, broke through the seal of clouds to smile down up their congregation, before it descended into its dusk embrace.

To the cynical, this had been the union of two opposing armies behind enemy lines. To the free, this was merely a resurrection of kinship, whose tradition demanded the renewal of a yearly vow undertaken. To them, it was an apology, for the doubts of humanity, was a triumph all in itself.

But some shadow had persisted to trouble Kurt; discernible in his expression, and he spoke of it now. With Blaine having manoeuvred back into his arms, he had no difficulty in twisting round his finger one of the curls which were so enthralling to him; stretching it out and watching it spring right back into place.

"You said you didn't want Sebastian to be either convicted or expelled," he kept tone a forced neutral, an indication that this was a subject, even between then, which could quickly become heated and out of hand – full of assumption and words taken ill.

"How come? After what he did …"

Nick, Jeff and Trent watched him keenly, that was something which they had been wondering too. They were denied the one golden opportunity to omit Sebastian from their lives, as a jeweller expels each stone wrought in imperfection, by the one person who should have been calling for it from the rooftops. In action alone, it didn't make any sense.

Painfully aware of their scrutiny, Blaine shrugged in a self-conscious manner; shifting uncomfortably, clearly fearing that his answer might incite their offence. Swallowing thickly, he confided;

"It's not really something that I can describe, just that, I sort of felt sorry for him." And then, in a harsher tone, as if berating himself for what he charged a weakness of character even as it masqueraded as divinity; "still do, actually."

Kurt appeared to consider this, and the altruism of Blaine's reply seemed to have disarmed anything he was intending to say in return, clearly he had assured himself of another avenue of sympathy. It was obvious that he wanted to stop Blaine making excuses for Sebastian, giving him the benefit of the doubt when he didn't even deserve that, but his boyfriends compassion was something he would never be prepared to dissuade, having once been on the receiving end of it. Having once been _saved_ by it.

"Why?" Nick asked, genuinely intrigued by how Sebastian could evoke that response from anybody. "What did say?"

"He never said anything," Blaine shrugged, "he never spoke about himself. And if I ever brought something up by mistake, he would immediately shut down on me, become unreachable. It was more his mannerisms than anything else; full of anger, bitterness, self-loathing. That depth of feeling has to come from somewhere … must be horrible to have to bare day in and day out. People like Sebastian usually treat the world how they themselves have been treated, because it's the only way they know how."

His words were poignant, and hung in the air even after silence had claimed their rights. Was it even possible that what Sebastian made others suffer, was only a fraction of what he himself was suffering? A dispersion of maelstrom which he just couldn't contain without combustion? Was his cruelty a misguided attempt at catharsis?

They had abhorred the product of his actions too flagrantly and for too long to consider the wounds of the man behind them, before today.

"I hear you. Four months on and he's still the same mysterious figure he was when he first came to Dalton," Trent agreed somewhat dryly. "No-one knows anything about him, or, more specifically, he doesn't _allow_ anyone to know anything about him. I guess it's part of his charm. It's about the only thing that's charming about him."

They considered the gravity of this. That Sebastian was not the tyrant they had assumed by choice, but was the product of bad experience which had made him that way; the sort which they had all had the misfortune to weather, which left its mark upon each of them. It threw everything they had assumed about him into disrepute , but did it really change anything?

He had still performed the reprehensible actions which found them here today, he had still blighted each of their lives indiscriminately – and the natural course was retribution, not forgiveness. Maybe, if they could reach an understanding … but sometimes, even for the noble, nobility could be a stretch. Why should they show him consideration, when he had never graced them with his?

As callous as it sounded, they wanted to make him pay, for everything he had subjected them too. Maybe then, sympathy could be found, but not before.

Jeff's voice came like a prophecy through the thralls of time:

"But then, isn't it obvious what we have to do?" He looked between their blank expressions with amusement, before elaborating; "We need to fill in the blanks, of course. Sebastian doesn't want us to know anything about him, so we reveal him to the world. After all; knowing your enemy is half the battle, and it's his anonymity which makes him so untouchable."

It was simple really, when you thought about it. But sometimes you just needed a mind like Jeff's to perceive it.

"You're brilliant. You know that?" Nick gushed softly. Jeff grinned;

"So I've been told."

At this decision, Blaine still seemed dissatisfied, but not to a degree of vocalization. Meanwhile, Kurt and Trent exchanged curiosity in the guise of raised eyebrows, because Nick and Jeff's exchange had alluded to a much more prominent intimacy.

So now, they had a purpose; the fractured lives were united. Their oppression had been absolved, but that didn't mean the fight was over, merely that their journey had transcended into a subsequent stage. They now turned their resolve to justice.

They left Blaine's house at around six. Amidst a series of heart felt farewells, they stepped out into a wilderness where night had well and truly taken hold.

The rain had finally ceased, exhausted now after a day of mourning, and with it was banished too, the wind, so now the air seemed still in comparison; both placid and furtive. A mist was rolling in from the south, so that, as they walked towards their car, they pulled the necks of their jackets close around them; assuming cold rather than really feeling it.

Trent was the first to put his hand to the smooth, contoured metal door, asserting his right to ride shot-gun on the return journey in the car whose cobalt tincture appeared more charcoal in the moonlight. However, when he tried the handle, he found his access denied; that was odd.

When he turned round to regard Jeff questioningly, it was to find him standing side by side with Nick a little way behind, with an expression which suggested both of them were in cahoots.

He took in their shifty persona and flighty movements with suspicion, feeling like he was the object of some practical joke played out by armatures, who could not even temperate the self-congratulatory laugher at the pantomimes pivotal moment to see it done. The impression that he was missing something, which had been growing in the back of his mind all day was now given undeniable conviction. Seriously, what was going on with everybody lately? He just couldn't keep up.

By unspoken concession, this was Nick's turn to confess, and though the words did not come easily or readily, actions spoke louder anyway, and were his more preferred medium.

Trent's expression was amusing to him, because of all the things he suspected, Nick would warrant that this was not one of them, even if he had entertained the notion before. Often we descry things which are not really there, but remain blind to the things that are, even when they are staring us in the face.

Jeff grinned delightedly, excited by the whole thing. Revelation did not dilute the gestures of their love, conversely, it only made them more concentrated.

"Trent? Jeff and I have something we want to share with you …"

And he reached out and took Jeff's hand, raising their clasped fingers to the full view of the world.

Trent took one look at them and grinned, punching the air in exultation.

"Well its about time!"

That confirmed it. They had definitely fostered to ambitious an impression of their discretion.

~ * … * ~

Tea was still in full motion when they returned back to Dalton, and though still comfortably full from Kurt's exemplary cooking, none of them could resist the alluring aroma of chocolate fudge brownies, and the taste sensation the scent promised on acquisition. Sundays may have been tedious, but boy did they make up for it in other ways.

They each sat down to hearty helpings with two generous scoops of vanilla ice-cream, and drizzling's of dark chocolate sauce apiece. They savoured in absolute silence, with heads bowed low over the rims of their bowls in an almost tributary, prayer-like fashion. Few deserts could be said to command their undivided attention, this, however, was one of the acclaimed.

The canteen steadily emptied around them; people defecting their congregations in solitary stints or unions, until only one table of four confederates was left preserved. The quartet were characterised by an aversive compulsion for proximity, which made their company seem rigid and forced, as if they were both determined to and uncomfortable with violating some custom which they had involuntarily followed long enough for it to become habit. They talked in whispers with their heads close together; always simultaneously reaching out and resisting.

Nick, Jeff and Trent paid them no heed, although they almost certainly constituted the topic of conversation. Instead, they were consumed by their own thoughts, namely; finding a means of securing information about Sebastian, and dreaming up moral triumphs which saw him defeated in a spectacular, but none violent, fashion.

However, Trent was, for the most part, preoccupied with a more favourable train of thought. Always he had suspected it; an undercurrent waiting for resurgence, but at the moment when a whim had become reality, he had failed to see it's fruition. He had been blinded by his own expectations.

Nick and Jeff together was one of those things which fate must have preordained, and taken a lot of pains to nurture into flame. It housed itself within the same coveted spectrum as Kurt and Blaine's relationship; a love more profound and enduring than the common; soul mates, as oppose to simply partners of the heart. It was a union of hope and integrity; a message to the world, calling them to accept.

The way they conducted themselves was both enthralling and stirring, it made all those who observed it fall in love with the idea of love all over again. Always were they deferential and respectful to the nature of peoples easily incited scorn, a care they should never have to have taken, but yet imbued within their every movement, every gesture, every inclination towards one another, there was the most sensual affection, just barely contained. To the wider eye, they remained as yet, just friends, while to the eye of friends they could be true. Dalton would have accepted them, but they were not ready yet.

So, in a dream of gentle attentions, tender practises and loving glances, their relationship blossomed and grew under dawn. And Trent watched them, enraptured, rooting for them every step of the way.

Consumed by those delightful thoughts as he was, he did not hear the footsteps as they approached him from behind, and startled when a hand, unannounced, reached out momentarily and touched his shoulder.

He spun around to see the wild hair and pensive eyes of Luke, baring like a shield, a tray of uneaten food, and a stoic expression upon his face.

From across the canteen, the remaining three members watched him eagerly, willing the messiah of their hopes to deliver them to the path of salvation.

Luke shifted his feet uneasily for a moment, before in one fluid and swift movement, taking the vacant seat on Trent's right, addressing him in the same thoughtful, dreamy tone as he always used when called back to reality from more pleasurable musings;

"I never really thought I was in with much of a chance of winning a solo, but congratulations on yours."

He then proceeded to bite into an apple, his expression become distant, appearing to consider nothing in this unusual set up amiss.

Trent, Nick and Jeff were completely dumbfounded, however, and they glanced at each other with open mouths and furrowed brows trying to make sense of this development, before, as one, turning back to the boy in question, who merely carried on eating with a type of reserve air, appearing completely oblivious the stir he had caused.

When had this happened? When had the brothers who just yesterday had shunned their companionship, come to welcome and indeed, seek it?

With only an intermittent seventy-two hours, Trent had procured an answer to the question which was asked, in the absence of friends, as an attempt to awaken the better nature of Sebastian's oppressed to revolution. Now in their unlooked for liberty, they came to him, came to _them_; seeking a new government.

"Er, thanks," Trent frowned.

Luke nodded and carried on eating. Apparently of the opinion that their gathering necessitated no further conversation upon his part.

Trent, Nick and Jeff returned to their deserts with raised eyebrows; well this was weird.

Sebastian's confrontation with Santana had, to revive the phrase; really put the cat among the pigeons; brought his empire crashing down around him. Though Trent's attempt had failed to ignite, revolution had happened anyway.

As it turned out, Luke was not the pariah, but the patron, for more Warblers who had deserted their rigid factions came to join their party. And those who had stood alone embraced community again.

The trio were, for the most part, made speechless by the sudden movement in their favour, which painted them as hero's, rather than friends driven to the extreme of their endurance, doing anything they could to protect one another.

Thad was the fondest addition to their party; grinning animatedly, with his former presence restored. They welcomed him as an old friend, the only difference being that now, he looked towards _them_ for directive and guidance. Had they, somewhere down the line, won the acclaim of the council member? Surely the notion was ludicrous. They were not leaders.

Next came Joel, a newer Warbler, to whom very little heed had been given. A sophmore, maybe, but certainly no older, who had only wanted to indulge in a few extra curricular's, and had found himself embroiled in a blood-feud. He smiled shyly as he joined their congregation, and his movements were hesitant, as if he feared each moment that he would be abruptly turned away. It was true, however, that the understated person was often the most surprising, and they welcomed him nonetheless.

First came the idea, and now came the means of transforming it. It was like the world was willing them to fight back.

The surprise, however, came in the form of Theo, who, until recently it seemed, had been one of Sebastian's most vocal supporters. He was a person who exuded pompous arrogance, and was bombastic to boot.

He sat without invitation or introduction and without even acknowledging any of them, as if they, lost in the throngs of students coming and going, had stayed onto his table, rather than the reverse. His first words were demeaning, derived to be derogatory, and directed towards Trent and Nick;

"You know Sebastian only gave you those solos to buy your compliance … _sorry_." It was an apology offered without conviction, however, as if somehow, he were apologising for their bad fortune as oppose to his impertinence.

"What is it they say though: bribery is the highest form of flattery?"

It wasn't; imitation was, but then he seemed like the sort of guy who would willingly take his own word above and before anyone else's, even if he knew it was erroneous.

A little belatedly, Trent remembered that Theo was a person who possessed a disconcerting knack for wantonly spilling out dangerously precise observations. He was a strange person for Sebastian to have placed his trust in.

Jeff was instantly intimidated by his abrupt and abrasive manner, and so he remained silent throughout the exchange, imitating inconspicuous with Nick's hand upon his knee.

Joel and Luke it appeared, shared his discomfort, while Nick, Trent and Thad were more inclined towards incredulity that someone could actually be so imprudent.

This consensus confusion at his blasphemous words, however, must have been betrayed, because the next moment Theo laughed, and it was no playful mockery;

"What? Just because I obliged him didn't mean I _liked_ him," he scoffed.

And there was that fickle loyalty come to light, which was the only thing Sebastian's campaign had won him, and was now betraying him. But perhaps Sebastian was as fickle with his trust, by placing it in such a figure, and that made the defection seem almost poetic.

"No. I had my reasons for following him. Now I have my reasons for not, as I'm sure you all do to." Well, if that wasn't an enigmatic reply they didn't know what was.

They didn't like him, but maybe they needed him. Either way, his addition to their party brought the number of those unified against Sebastian to a round seven; exactly half of the Warblers. Between them surely, they could figure out a way to unravel his identity, to perceive the remains of a heart ...

From their fellows they learned that Sebastian had not been seen all day. Rumours abounded that he had ventured forth in the early hours, and still had yet to return.

Somehow, the trio were more concerned for the welfare of every sole in the world bar the one who was missing. Sebastian could take care of himself; it was everyone else who always got hurt.

Then, out of the silence, a text; one word, from Kurt; 'congratulations.'

They should have really saw that one coming.

~ * ... * ~

Later that night, Nick and Jeff lay entwined upon Nick's mattress, listening to the sounds of each others breathing; like waves lapping against the edge of the shore.

Nick traced his fingers up and down the length of Jeff's, marvelling at their sinuous dexterity; they were musicians hands, writers hands. Meanwhile, Jeff sought to represent within his mind a facsimile of Nick's eyes, which he could call to him as strength even in the brunettes absence; eyes which were, by constitution, so inlaid with highlights that they appeared like two separate constellations; two planes of stars.

They had forever to satisfy their need to explore every insignificant detail of each other, and they resolved now, to end all nights how they had ended the first; locked in one another's arms.

When Jeff nuzzled into Nick's shoulder, the latter would whisper into his ear. Even just being this close in still hesitant and delicate affection was an entirely new phenomenon for them; every touch, every glance; every uncertain caress tried on for size, held such an impact that it seemed they must swell and burst from feeling.

Love was a thing which even imagination paled too. That which usually heralded a disappointment of expectation was, in itself, disappointed, where romance was involved. And if Nick and Jeff hadn't felt the fire of it in their own veins, they would have scarcely believed it possible to be quite _so_ in love as they were; a passion which neither flesh, nor bone could contain. And even now, they began to realise it; that time became abstract in the heart of affairs.

For a moment, the sound of breathing ceased altogether, and the two heads inclined, moved closer; looking through closed eyes. It was a movement of instinct, not thought; of desire, not logic, and in it they both participated, like a dance; won over by a primitive compulsion which would argue education.

The feel of warm breath against their cheeks; the scent which played upon their tongue; the taste of excitement, always yet still uncertain, which filled their noses; the glow of skin blushing, heating the diminishing distance between them; the touch of lips brushing …

At that moment, the door to their dormitory was flung open in excitement and ricochetted back in a tremendous din. Before they could register what was really going on, however, Trent's voice filled their shared world; shrill with his own mistake;

"Sorry! Sorry! I should have knocked! Sorry!" He retreated, and the door was swiftly closed behind him. Then a second later came a muffled; "Carry on …"

Nick and Jeff broke apart laughing. While his permission was appreciated, the moment was gone.

Instead, Jeff laid a finger upon Nick's lips grinning;

"I want our first kiss to be special. I want to lose myself in a moment, and have it last forever, even as a memory." Nick's eyes became glazed as he imagined it; the north star seen in duplicate, guiding him home. Yes, he wanted that too. "So, there's something I want to show you first. But you'll have to wait until tomorrow," Jeff added mischievously.

"I'll wait," Nick told him tenderly, and then, tucking a lock of hair behind Jeff's ear, "I'd wait an entire lifetime if you asked me to."

"I know," with sincerity, and then with a laugh, "but maybe we had better let Trent back in. By the fact he almost knocked our door off its hinges, I'd say there's something important he wants to tell us. I can only imagine the torture he's suffering in keeping quiet this long."

Nick laughed heartily as Jeff disentangled himself and crossed the room to open the door. Trent was standing red faced and abashed. He shifted his feet uncomfortably, fearing he had interrupted a beautiful moment between them.

"Sorry," he frowned. Why couldn't he think of something more substantial to say?

Jeff merely rolled his eyes, and then assured in an easy tone; "It's _fine_. Come in."

And that was all that was necessary to pass between them, before the moment was absolved and subsequently forgotten. Friends didn't hold friends accountable.

Trent alighted upon the foot of Nick's mattress, barely allowing Jeff the opportunity to situate himself, before he poured forth, in a torrent of excitement, words which would change their fortunes forever. Leaving Nick and Jeff unable to get a word in edgeways.

"So, I was talking to Wes just before, he says 'hi' by the way. And amongst other things we, of course, fell to talking about Regionals and by extension, Sebastian. Do you remember when we lost to Kurt and the New Directions, Wes saying it was the first time the Warblers had failed to qualify for Nationals since 1997?"

Nick and Jeff nodded, bemused about the direction in which the conversation was heading.

"Well, I got curious, so I asked him, and god bless Wes and his ability to retain useless trivia! Apparently the Warblers failed to qualify because of the actions of one junior member; Piers Smith. Yep," he grinned as he noticed their comprehension, "I thought the name sounded familiar too." As a title, it certainly did carry some synonymity, even if they couldn't exactly recall why.

"It's because you've heard it before." And then, adopting a high-to-do tone, "Piers Smith is the most notorious and least favourable figure in Warbler history. And Wes gave us a lesson on him, the first time we ever famously auditioned for thirty-two solo's without securing a single one, and in anger, spoke out against the council, causing widespread contention and pandemonium. Out of bitterness he sought to usurp the democratic system of the council by denouncing their procedures as unjust, narrow minded and a pavilion for favouritism. He sought to instate a new practice, proposing that solo's should not be won by auditions, as had been the case since the Warblers inception, but instead, handed out systematically. But, of course, tradition doesn't just simply change like _that_." He snapped his fingers. "Eventually, the council silenced him, but even that wasn't enough to subdue him. The idea it seemed was surprisingly popular, and so, by some covert means, he convinced the rest of the Warblers to suppress their voices in protest. At Regionals, all but the council members refused to sing, and of course, you can't carry an eight-bar-harmony with just three voices. And so, they stood silent for six minutes until at the end of their slot, they were booed off the stage. They defected the victory which should have been theirs for the conviction of their stand, or at least, that's one way to consider it."

He looked toward them significantly. The message was an inspiring one, even if the result called for red faces all around.

"Wes assures me it was a long slog before the Warblers recovered even a modicum of their reputation." Trent added wryly.

Nick and Jeff grinned in ecstasy. This was brilliant.

To long had their own silence been bought and used to oppress them. Now it was time for silence to act.

* * *

><p><em>Hmmm, so what does Jeff want to show Nick? :') I think it's a lovely idea anyway ...<em>

_Thank you very much for reading! :)_

_- One Wish Magic._


	5. Everyone Around You Has Their Little

_Wow, I think this is the earliest I have ever managed to get this completed! :')_

_This chapter was meant to be something else entirely, when I first wrote out my extensive plan, and involved Nick, Jeff, Trent and Kurt going on a fact finding mission to Scandles (I know, what was I **thinking!**) :') But it made sense at the time, as everything does. Anyway, after a new plan, came this idea, and I like it much better anyway, its more cohesive to the story and who doesn't want to see Sebastian get a bit of commupance?_

_Now, here's a moral question; Were Nick, Jeff and Trent justified in what they did? Or should they have been less avenging and more forgiving? :') I can't even decide, and gave up trying because I could argue both sides :')_

_Excited to see what Jeff has planned? :D It took me ages to decide which to use! Hopefully, it lives us to the romanticism of Nick's gesture, or at least gives you a smile :)_

_It's funny, when I started writing this story. I hated Sebastian with a passion, but now, after exploring him, I'm more sympethetic; he's intriguing to say the least, and his parts strangley enough, depite thier tone, are usually so fun to write!_

_I feel like poor Trent's left out, but I can't think of any drama for him; he's just the dependable character and steady observer. He's the good friend who in wanting moments shines. I think his part in the story was really to find friends :)_

_The name for this chapter comes from the song Hold On by Triumph._

_Anyway, hope you all enjoy! :)_

_Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. I still make no material profit. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>:

_Everyone Aro__und You Has Their Little Schemes_

* * *

><p>How did you marry the threads of an old life to the design of a brilliant new future? How did you affront a scene unchanged with a character unrecognisable and expect the two to meld with neutrality? How did you go back to the way things were, when nothing was the same? How did love play out in the commonplace, where the only precedent was friendship?<p>

All of these were questions Nick and Jeff still sought yet to answer when Monday morning rolled around, echoing a return back to school; a return back to reality after a dream.

There was something new stirring in the air that morning; the scent of hope after rain. Winter still held with tenacious might, but for the first time, the promise of spring seemed almost tangible. A new dawn, a new era; finally they were moving forwards.

Catharsis is the soul of tragedy, and like everything, a choice; to rise up or sink below – and they were conquering astronomical heights. In suffering, they had grown strong; hardship forging boys into the cast and foundation of men, finding them figures much grater than they were deemed, forcing them to re-evaluate everything.

In the fight, each of them had won something; the rapture and damnation of emotions forcing forward the pace of life; marking the youthful aged before they had even really lived, coercing them into a mindset which ordered them to seize the day while the failing light still lasted.

It was a motto to live and die by. A week of life had changed them more than in seventeen years, and each of them felt it, walking down those familiar hallways.

Today marked the beginning of a grace period, whose span was indefinite; it was a time of healing after all that had happened (or, at least, that was what it proponed) a time for poppies to grow upon the victimless fields, and upon the scarred lands. And in everything, as if the world had been remoulded, was a distinct sensation of closure – brought about by their reconciliation; their alliance with Kurt and Blaine, brought about by their plan to strike against Sebastian. They had never truly been the victims, only the powerful oppressed, because he was always the weaker one.

So, trading the habitual steps of an ingrained destination, Nick and Jeff did not do that which had quickly become customary, and allow their fingers to touch; or their errant glances to meet – marking their relationship once again clandestine, save to a select few. Whether the world was ready didn't matter, because they were not.

So hard did they try to re-characterise friendship that the performance was found flaccid, and aroused suspicion more readily than any covert inclinations of love.

They stood outside English in silence, compensating for their feigned aloofness by proximity; though never, of course, to an overly intimate degree, and somehow, feeling the same prominent void in their hearts as was called to dominance in the others absence. When denied earnest interaction it seemed you could miss a person even when they were standing right next to you.

To Jeff's eyes, this scene compared to the hobbits triumphant homecoming in Return Of The King; when, having rose up as the true and most unlikely hero's of the age; having fought side by side with men, elves and dwarves in foreign battles for foreign politics they little understood; having conquered - against astronomical odds – doomful mountains and bowels of fire to destroy the greatest evil ever witnessed where the lesser greatness of men had failed; and having won, lost, and won again, returned home to the lands they had saved for themselves, only to have none of their brethren even recognise their growth and transformation.

How could lives move so independently that the larger events of one, could pass by completely, the notice of another? How in an age where we were all so connected, could we be less communicative with each other? Nowadays, community _was_ disconnection.

It took all the strength of will he possessed not to look at Nick, and all the while, the denial was killing him. While Jeff had always been shy and introverted, at times even cripplingly so, Nick was eternally confident and charming in his social dealings, and in their three years together, had inch by inch, brought Jeff out of his shell.

For Nick, socialization was easy. For Jeff, _love_ was easy, because his peaceable temperament had long since learned to be true to itself, whomever that might be.

It's funny; the more people try to beat it out of us, the harder we hold onto our conviction, whatever that might be. Perhaps, this time, it was Jeff's turn to show him the way, because together, in each others company, they were free.

As they stood waiting, Thad passed them, offering a covert wink.

And, of course, the child of love was always betrayal, though it was not and would never be theirs to bare. Though their actions had inadvertently boasted and shunted them forwards as the leaders of their secret revolution, they were not its instigators, just friends without a choice. For that, Sebastian had only himself to blame.

They were led into the wainscotted classroom, and Nick and Jeff elected the high-rise seats at the rear; a return also to their usual haunt and habits also.

The interested words of busy tongues surrounding the nature of their discord had passed into resolve, like mist passing over the waves. The topic was now rendered obsolete,while those who traded their wealth in gossip lifted up their noses to the scent of some brand new scandal carried on the air. Would it be theirs again? People talked, people would always talk.

Under the cover of shadows and out of easy sight, the two boys slipped their hands beneath the table and allowed their seeking fingers to desperately intertwine. Instantly, the pent up tension they had felt within themselves, thawed, and their nervous hearts were remade whole. This pretence, for however long it lasted would be hard, would test their resolve to the extremity of its limit, and maybe they would never have survived it, if not for these stolen moments to be in love.

They smiled; content, even in knowing that when an hour was passed, they would once gain have to test their restraint; feeling everytime how it grew infinitesimally weaker.

Love was a compund of weakness and strength, and everyone who endluged it, was an embodiment of both. Even then, Nick and Jeff knew, if they lived to be a hundred years, they could never learn to live without each other. This was them; now and forever. They had both found and saved one another, in ways they would never even know.

Demonstrating punctuality, Mr. Doyle entered with his usual genial grin and pensively observant expression, and his willing audience immediately fell to attention. All the teachers at Dalton were given a respect rarely found elsewhere, but few enough commanded the presence he did; five generation past had hung upon his every word with rapture, and it was not difficult to imagine why.

Slightly eccentric with his monocle and strange affinity for cartoon ties, he was a perceptive, insightful figure, who struck the ideal balance between speaking to his students as equals and still retaining the distinction of tutor. He had a kind word for all, and just as readily, a reprimanding tongue when the need arose. Optimistic, effervescent and encouraging, year after year he found the same favour of a new generation. Few people should ever be listed to religiously, but he was one who had long since won even that acclaim.

Rumour placed his legacy as a 57 year tuition at Dalton, but he appeared ageless. His hair, it seemed had always been iron, his eyes had always been wrinkled, surrounded by the maps of all that they had seen. One day, he had simply gotten up to teach, and one day he would take his bow at the curtains fall – a life content to extend and progress through only one single chapter, devoted simply to that which he loved.

Nick and Jeff admired him; he exemplified everything an English teacher should be. He had shown them the light to literature, and had, inadvertently, opened the door to love; introducing them to hero's and heroins, and values which, in today's society, were old school, and more desirable for their scarcity. From the past, we learn to change, but perhaps, sometimes, we should also learn to retain – because maybe we had been right the first time.

Mr. Doyle spread his arms wide and welcomed them in typical fashion with a robust;

"Good _morning_, gentlemen …"

Jeff relaxed instantly at the sound of the rumbling bass tones, which echoed like the shift of mountains as the world breathed, and brought them comfortably into another reality where less was impossible.

He caressed Nick's palm lovingly; a quiet thrill running through him to observe the brunettes cheeks blaze, and a shy, almost guilty smile breeze across his lips. It was amazing just what a simple touch could do between them. Would they ever cease to have such a profound effect upon each other? Somehow, the prospects were doubtful. They would never tire of romance.

For the first time Jeff began to believe that, maybe, somehow, they could find a way to reconcile four worlds into tolerant co-habitation. For didn't dreaming make anything possible?

Once Nick had suitably composed himself and felt the surface fire of love fade, he returned his attention to a familiar hobby. Surmounted upon the walls were various plaques quoting inspirational speakers; and over the course of his education, he had lavished upon each one a lengthy and resolute consideration, with the result that, by smaller margins each time, he just failed to grasp the full extent of their comprehensive meaning. He had thought age and experience were the things wanting of wisdom, so, each Monday morning, he was in the habit of considering them anew – to see whether anything more could be gleaned with the passage of time. Usually it couldn't, enlightenment just didn't happen that fast.

But their was something in this revolutionary morning which made him feel like he finally understood.

All this time, his assumptions had been askew, and therefore, any attempts to apply them were destined to frustration. He had always taken it for granted that the grand words spoke of hero's of their respective ages; figures maybe made just a little greater than the rest; through whose actions and words were delivered salvation and tolerance - but that scope had been too narrow, because he could see it now. What they really spoke of, was life. And he had never understood that before, not until he had taken the time, first, to understand himself.

He and Jeff could just as likely be two of those hero's of living.

Generalities were discussed and tasks were set, upon J.B Priestly's; _An Inspector Calls_. An essay question: "_Why is time an important theme in Priestly's play?_"

Having performed two stints of late-night reading, and pursued Jeff's abundant, detailed and meticulous notes with the careful rapture they deserved, Nick, for the first time in a long while, actually felt some mark of confidence in his ability to answer such a question.

Having Jeff beside him should have been a distraction, especially now, when he could barely divert his attention away from him to entertain anything else. But instead, the blonde was like a muse to his thoughts; even as he was a song to his heart.

Spurred on by this advantageous curiosity, Nick immediately noted down five points, now, while they came to him, which would suffice to build and support his argument. He then focused upon giving them body and substance, making in such a short time frame; exceptional progress, and, in comparison to similar recent efforts an astronomical difference. He grinned despite himself. It felt good to be once again working towards something.

Jeff watched him proudly out of the corner of his eye. All he had wanted was the Nick he had always known to come back to him. Certainly he had gotten that, but he had also won so much more besides. It took courage to rise above ones mistakes, to hold ones hands up in admission that they were wrong. But it took something more to start again; maturity. In his best friend, in his _boyfriend_, Jeff had never doubted either one.

In terms of nature, Nick was like the sea: though he could become prey to the actions and persuasions of outside forces to his own alternation, undeniably, inexorably, he always found a way to come back the same.

It was while their attentions were thus engaged, that Mr. Doyle found his way to their desk, with that curiously silent and unassuming manner, which always marked his appearance unannounced.

Both of them startled as he took the liberty of laying something down upon their desk in front of Nick, and, as a reflex, their hands broke apart, before they remembered; no-one could see them anyway.

Nevertheless, his profound eyes seemed to twinkle as if somehow, their countenances betrayed what their voices would not, as if he tasted the secret upon the air. When one was in love, it showed, in ways too subtle for them even to recognise in themselves.

And, strangely, Jeff now recalled the same expression finding home on the matron; Eloises' face as she had watched the tenderness with which he soothed an injured Nick. The same expression which had made him feel so uncomfortable and oddly defensive, and, only three days ago, he hadn't understood.

It was a few moments before Nick comprehended that what had been returned to him was his essay on _Lord Of The Flies_. He turned it over with a sense of trepidation and bated breath, wishing he had a sparser audience … and his stomach about somersaulted right out of his body to witness the 'A+' which adorned the front page like an emblem.

For a moment, he was incredulous, and even after that he didn't believe it. Surely there had to have been some mistake?

As if sensing his resistance, Mr. Doyle smiled, and he reiterated in his thought-provoking, bass tone:

"A commendable effort Mr. Duval; very insightful, indeed. Although, maybe next time we could work just a little harder on the punctuality of our good work? The habit of completing and marking an essay months after it has originally been set, can, as you understand, become quite tedious for both parties …"

There was no chastisement in his tone, only advisory organisation. Nick smiled a little at the way he had phrased it; and resolved to take all the good advice which was offered to him.

"Yes, sir. It wont happen again." The words were a pledge and a promise.

His wrinkled eyes narrowed shrewdly, and his voice became too genial to conceal its own significance;

"I know it won't. Nice to have you back, Mr. Duval. I hope good sense continues to serve you well."

And then, turning away from them, his murmured address was almost missed, and yet, even his tone alluded to a grin;

"Keep him on the straight and narrow, Mr. Sterling."

He left them both blushing furiously, without really knowing why. His words, as he had spoken them, did not profess ambiguity, and yet they _were_ ambiguous. The skull calling the man.

After that, composure was not forthcoming for either of them. But when they had scraped together the threads of a lesser associate, Jeff cautiously leaned in closer to Nick, and whispered;

"See, I told you, you should have more faith in yourself." And then he grinned mischievously; "My boyfriend is the smartest."

Nick positively beamed, but not from the praise. It was the first time either of them had used the term in speaking, much less in so public an endearment.

It was like the fascination of children playing with fire; their eternal attractor, leaning in closer and closer each time, aware from their parents warnings of the likelihood of getting burned, but in daring and perfidious boldness, never really believing it could happen to them. With each subsequent intimacy, Nick and Jeff chanced scorn with new bravery, were more and more prepared to test the boundaries of what could be retained in secrecy, and were, as a result, less cautious as to the danger of encountering the flame.

But, humble as ever, Nick could not take all the credit, for, what would his effort have been without direction and guidance? Jeff was the magic, he was just the assistant.

"I couldn't have done it without you," he returned lovingly, their hands choosing this moment to entwine again.

When he perceived that Jeff was steeling to discredit himself, he gently, but firmly cut the blonde off before he could even begin. He assumed a persona of mock superiority which he barely managed to maintain around silent laughter;

"And don't even _think_ about arguing."

Jeff blinked at him in mute disbelief for a moment, before his countenance blossomed into a grin and he joked quietly;

"Well, that's me told. I guess we've just established who wears the trousers in our relationship then."

And so, as the precedent was set, so things continued, gaining strength throughout the rest of the day.

With the demands of each lesson a given, Nick soon began to note a marked improvement in his ability to meet them. Though his efforts may still have been slow and stalling yet by comparison to their prior epitome, he compensated for their deficit by focus and commitment, which would always win an eventual victory. These were the seeds of his hard work and Jeff's gracious tuition coming into fruit. And the change, indeed, did not go unnoticed.

After severe speculation, Nick's prospects were beginning to look up; of staying here at Dalton; of staying here with Jeff. However, he was not fool enough to believe that this was it; the summit, reached. A couple of days hard work did not erase the memory, nor consequences of one of his pasts most flagrant misjudgements. But what it _was_, was a start. These were the first steps in motion of ridding his life of any impression of Sebastian.

It was not the result which taught you, but the journey undertaken to arrive there, and he had many miles yet left to traverse.

The boy who had unashamedly lived in Sebastian's pocket, was unrecognisable to him now; the wrong-doing of a child witnessed through the eyes of the man. Those selfish wants which had drove him there were not even now a shadow left to fester, because, really, he had only ever wanted one thing. He had just been too afraid to admit it then.

Numerous times over the past four days he had concerned himself with the worrying notion that, that single period of thoughtless rebellion, come at the wrong time, could dictate the downfall of everything he had worked his life to achieve. He thought it _had_, in the initial hours.

So, maybe Nick didn't place as high an esteem on education as he had seen some do here at Dalton, but he still studied hard, made good grades, and cared, at least as much to realize that he could have thrown it all away in belligerent ignorance. Of course, he wanted his parents to be proud of him.

But today was like a shaft of light striking the desolate earth, and nurturing in its ray of hope, a silver-spun tree. His efforts in fighting back finally began to reveal the conviction of a truth which he had been too afraid to believe lest it turn out to be nothing more than a mirage; that those errant weeks bore no weight upon his future; were nothing more than a blip in an otherwise perfect record, to which everyone was susceptible. Those foolish events would not become the decisive pinnacles from which he would be forced to base his life. That responsibility had always lain with Nick, and so long as he held onto that resolution, Sebastian's poison was neutralized.

Sometimes, even secrets we swear ourselves to keep, can be too hard not to act upon, and beneath the various desks, Nick and Jeff still continued to hold hands. As of yet, it remained this single touch which opened the door to everything; powerful and delicate; passionate and unassuming – true intimacy would come in time, but for now, this was enough.

As people passed them, they tested their nerve, holding on for longer and longer each time, until their contact barely severed. Strange glances may or may not have been cast in their direction, but throughout the course of that morning, they never would have known.

Nick Duval and Jeff Sterling had always been two names synonymous with each other; two people inseparable from one another. Their persons had always been considered a unit; not two souls acting out of a personal identity which just happened to coincide, but one person with two outlets for a single breed of thought. In friendship, it had never troubled them, but in love, it wasn't true; they were as similar as they were dissimilar.

But now that they actually _were_ synonymous, actually _could_ be considered a unit, they somehow knew people would revolt. The speech of a thousand voices could turn an enigma from a fact.

They passed mid-morning break in Trent's company. He who was their grounding, whose friendship towards them had never changed, who had accepted readily, even without empathy. They had all began Dalton lost, but maybe now they were finding home.

The trio tossed back and forth between them various and incredible ideas concerning how to procure Sebastian's details, before subsequently discounting every one. Short of a CIA credential, their options were pretty limited. Furthermore, they discussed the motivations of certain persons within their new union, which they felt could not be trusted.

During this time, Trent wondered absently when their sitcom lives had been given over to espionage, and with all the usual clichés. He just couldn't keep up any more. And maybe it was better not to try.

Then, it was time for Nick to face his greatest demon; Biology. It had been the niche through which Sebastian had worked his way in, and the class in which Nick himself, had behaved so discreditably and appallingly. It was the one scenario in which maybe re-identification just wouldn't be enough, because the damage already ran to deep for a reversion to amend. The one wrong which could never be set right, which, ultimately, every life left behind.

At their parting, Jeff had whispered; 'Good Luck!' and embraced him with brief tenderness. While the gesture soothed his restless nerves as competently as Jeff could, it did not give him confidence.

Even now, his punctuality turned every head in the room, and in all honesty, Nick was getting quite sick of people and their expectations. You lived up to them, you were frowned upon, you didn't live up to them, you were frowned upon. How was anyone supposed to win? His side-show was now well and truly retired, and it was about time that they grasped that.

Forcing himself to think only of Jeff, to the exclusion of all else, he took his seat with a grace of dignity and stoicism, in the classroom which always smelt faintly like burnt rubber. Being away from Jeff would always be hard, and never harder than now when he longed for the support; longed for the touch of dexterous fingers concealed beneath a desk which gave him confidence to take on anything. But this was something he had to do alone; a personal score yet to be suitably settled.

While he waited, he embodied studiousness and pursued his textbook; memorising facts with something reminiscent of his old capability. It worked well as a distraction too, because for ten minutes, he managed to forget where he was, managed to forget seventeen pairs of eyes all trained on him; just waiting for the calm composure to combust.

Then, at eleven, precisely, two of his least favourite people made their tangent début.

He ignored Sebastian as the Head Warbler elected a seat as far away from Nick as circumstances permitted. Nick spared only enough humbleness to appease one man's wounded pride, and it was not going to be his. Sebastian did not even exist, so long as Nick refused to pay him any attention.

Mr. Barnes, however, was a different matter entirely, and Nick would vouch he had caught the usual scowl which was given prominence when roaming eyes spotted him amongst the number of present faces. It was an expression which both bristled and was reserved to a new series of taunts, and a tedious spell spent in detention. This was not going to be easy, even if Nick was determined to disappoint. Perhaps cynicism had gone too far. Eith way things were already off to a demoralising start.

The furtive, balding man was the incarnate of antagonistic, or maybe, rather … _Nick_ had made him that way … Maybe he was nothing more than a man drove to defensiveness by the unceasing tirade of a folly student. Maybe his habit of seeking Nick out for disgrace, was his only way of getting back; the only power which was left to him to extol. And now that he considered it, the scorn and hatred Nick felt in those moments was only the same in reciprocal of what he had delivered with his ventriloquists tongue in ridicule.

This thought about made Nick sick with shame. Not everything was about what Sebastian had drove him too; this one was all on him. This was what student and teacher had drove each other too. He realized then; that there could never be love between them. The best they could hope for was tolerance.

That mornings lesson focused blinkerdly on this terms big grade booster; the project, which Nick had happily, already began. It was an example, it seemed few of his classmates had emulated, and wasn't that a strand of irony, considering _he_ was supposed to be the deplorable one?

He took down copious notes and otherwise avoided anything which may have drawn any unwanted attention upon himself. In all, he was a model student, even as the clearly scornful Mr. Barnes watched him with suspicion, just begging to catch him out.

It was Shakespeare who had once said it best: that though a man may do a thousand good deeds, they will always pale in comparison to his one mistake – and it is this which people will judge him by.

But despite his determined focus, something continued to bait at the back of Nick's mind; some great working, out of place, which made the conviction of reality an infirmity.

He didn't want to acknowledge Sebastian, but when he had examined the room at large and drawn a blank on the sensations origin, he was forced to renounce his stand with ill grace, and what he saw shocked him.

Sebastian looked ill. There was no other way to describe it; haggard, translucent and sallow. To the eye even, he appeared as a husk of a man, whose vitality had been purloined in the breeze. His eyes were bruised with dark circles which stood out in horrific relief against the frail skin. And the windows they held were made lifeless, their lids periodically slipping closed as if exhaustion took him. Even despite the relative warmth of the classroom, he shivered bodily, as if unable to shake a chill.

Helplessly, Nick looked around at his fellow students, only to realize that none of them noticed the ailing of their companion. And for an instant, it was like had received a glimpse into Sebastian's life. A life where a boy had gotten in way over his head and was screaming for help, only, no-body was ever listening.

Blaine's words came back to him then: "… _I sort of felt sorry for him … full of anger, bitterness and self-loathing … most people treat the world how they themselves have been treated …" _And suddenly, Nick perceived what he meant. How must the world have treated Sebastian for him to be so callous and cruel to others?

While Sebastian was afraid, he wasn't a coward. Nick hated that he now understood that; after everything Sebastian had done. But the sorry state of the perpetrator did not absolve his actions, did not mark all that that they had suffered undone, not even by a long shot.

Nick was a forgiving person, but what Sebastian had subjected Jeff to; taking advantage of the purest nature – a sacrilege to all human kind, Nick would never forgive, because Jeff was his weakness, even as he was his strength.

Blaine had felt sorry for Sebastian. Blaine had perceived the pain buried, unspoken, inside. In considering his own friendship with Sebastian, Nick could honestly he had never suspected a thing. But then, their camaraderie had been based upon a sham; they had associated because it had been to each of their mutual benefits, because they had been useful to each other. They had never asked introspective questions, nor even a detail concerning each others lives in passing fancy, because, the truth was, they had never cared. Nick had idolised Sebastian for the reverence he abounded, and Sebastian had used him; played upon that idolization. It had been a friendship founded in fickle desire, bound only to the barrenness of failure. Perhaps they served to bring out the worst in each other.

Sebastian's friendship with Blaine had been more wholesome, however, the former Warbler his own point of idolization, and all of them guessed at the feelings which Blaine did not reciprocate. So maybe it was fitting for Blaine to have descried these humanising characteristics; gleaned from glimpses into a sullied soul, which Sebastian could hide away from anyone but. Love, after all, overruled judgement in letting people in; it was instinctive to let down one's defences.

Suddenly, Sebastian looked up, and his eyes met Nick's. Eyes full of hatred, malice and savage desire; eyes animalistic, unrestrained and wild – in the freedom of madness – eyes which made Nick's blood run cold. No, this was a figure he could never pity.

"Not paying attention _again_, Mr. Duval?" came the sardonic tone which caused Nick to startle slightly in surprise. Forcing his countenance to betray an abashed constitution, more suited to the delicate situation than the annoyance and frustration which flooded him with absurd vigour, he offered a differential apology;

"Sorry, sir, I lost focus for a moment."

Mr. Barnes, who had tensed accordingly in expectation of their usual sling of words, looked like he had just witnessed a mouse take down a lion of the planes of the Serengeti. He didn't know how to reciprocate when his opponent elected reason.

He suspected trickery, Nick could see it, and he deigned to tread carefully; giving the coiled cobra no opportunity to strike.

He forced out, in a tone slightly harsher than necessary, and no less cynical for his shock;

"I _asked_ you: What are the two main types of white blood cells, and how do they differ in fighting diseases?"

And for a second, his features resolved back into their old smugness, like slipping on a silken gown. He was confident that Nick could not answer, and that was why he asked. It was a habit which was quickly becoming ritual.

We have many fine qualities; our retention of grudges, our need for avengement, and our too quick judgements of when people have done us wrongs, however, are not among them.

Nevertheless, Nick smiled, because he _did_ know this. His study spell proceeding the lesson now proved itself invaluable. It had been the last thing he had read.

"The two main types are: Phagocytes, which kill microbes by ingesting them, and Lymphocytes, which send out antibodies to kill the microbes instead."

And, with a sense of satisfaction which feigned humbleness, he returned his attention dutifully back to his work, leaving Mr. Barnes to gawp and stutter at leisure. Nick had gotten the question right. There was nothing he could legitimately say.

Honour was an important thing to Nick, and he had never yet gone back on his word. Next time, he had pledged, with the hot blood of transcendence, he would know the answer. And next time, he had. The means didn't matter, only the result; chance was always an incorporate factor.

The victory was sweet, even if, at the moment, it made any form of tolerance between them seem all the less attainable.

In a peculiar quirk of timetable, Monday's fourth period proceeded lunch, rather than being subsequent to it, for juniors. It came as a dry run for the double periods they would enjoy in their final year, and though it meant one had to suffer through the pangs of hunger with good will, the end of the day, was also made that much more tangible. Or, in Nick, Jeff and Trent's case – whose fifth period constituted one of independent study anyway – it made their scholastic day ended even before afternoon had properly roused herself.

So there were some distinct advantages at least. But first they had to suffer through an arduous and demoralising session of maths, because nothing in this life would ever come easy.

Jeff was waiting for him, of course, with an adorably consoling expression, which worked a mysterious positivity in Nick, who promptly considered that maybe things hadn't gone so horribly after all. But nothing bleak was ever so in Jeff's company. He was the Earth's core, and Nick was being forever pulled back to him.

"It'll get better. You'll see," were the kindly and bracing words offered, "You've done the worst part."

Even if it didn't, Nick felt confident that, so long as he had Jeff's arms to fall back into, he could weather anything. And what was three hours a week when compared to a lifetime?

The next hour, however, taught him to appreciate just how long a frame one could seem.

Mathematics in its own right, was a tedious subject anyway. But when you added to that; the animosity of four boys; tried and tested and designing themselves to war; any equivalent would equal disaster.

Sebastian's silence, it seemed had been short lived, because now his personality was back with a vengeance; belligerent, overbearing, insufferable and poisonous; all to the most acute and precocious degree. But yet, there was something different in him … though it was a while before they suitably perceived the desperation.

The charming, deferential ficade had dissolved like smoke and mirrors, as they all knew one day it would. And in that seemingly insignificant hour, which could not have served to incite him, Sebastian revealed the very worst of himself to an abundant audience; none of whom would ever treat him with the leniency he had been lavished, again.

He began with a fail-safe of sarcastic remarks, designed to rile and infuriate. Like an actor, he chose his stage well; the true recipients of his biting words were all obediently assembled, and without power to desert him, and _she_, inclined to simper over the misfortune of the forgotten generation, would never challenge his tirade to any effect.

The atmosphere was taut with tension; and strangled with many a will indecisive. Each of them desired to halt his effusion, but none possessed the courage to challenge it directly, lest they become its object of receipt.

When people fall to their lowest disgrace, we all to often shy away, because we see their pain and their suffering and we are afraid to amercing ourselves in it too, in case the tide carries us away. The breaking point of humanity was always uncomfortable to watch; because it reminded us of our own fragility.

Any attempts to steer the lesson back on course, were duly abandoned, and each of them just sat; fifteen students and one teacher, stunned into silence, listening like confederates to the hangman's confession of crimes at the gallows. The last chance to redeem his soul.

So much anger. So much bitterness. So much hate. It effected them all, even if they couldn't accurately describe how. It was an emotion too profound, too great and too unlike anything else to nail it down in description.

Sebastian only got worse with the length of his vent; he got dirty. He may have been raised in an affluent home – nearly all who attended Dalton had – but his mind was something born and nurtured only in the gutter. His allusions and innuendos would have caused even the most rowdiest of sailors to blush with mortification, and certainly had Mrs. Seddon swooning with their brazen description.

And all of this, he imparted with a gleeful animation and a bizarre sense of thrill, which, when you looked beneath the surface, commanded absolutely no depth at all. He was a void feigning emotion. He was an effigy feigning life.

But all of this was a defence mechanism, an M.O seventeen years in the making, though the cast of it was not easy to descry. It was a wounding of others, before he himself could suffer attack, because all the fight was gone from Sebastian now, and that made him vulnerable; to himself and to the world. He was frightened and he was desperate; trying to run but he stumbled; trying to drown out the silence with hatred, because otherwise, he didn't know how to bare it.

Here was a boy who only ever needed someone to love him; someone to hold out their hand. Here was a boy who thought it was too late to go back.

And because Blaine alone had opened their eyes to the possibility, Jeff realized what Nick and Trent both were not prepared to admit to themselves; that, despite everything Sebastian had done, he _did_ feel sorry for him, because now he saw the broken man clearly for the first time; quailing behind the thorns.

In watching the distressing scene, it came to him where he had experienced it vicariously before. This was Dallas Winston, after losing the only thing he ever really loved, the only thing which kept him grounded, gave him purpose in a world which didn't care, blowing up and robbing a grocery store. Except, Darry wasn't on the other end of the phone to take his call.

As all three of them knew he eventually would, Sebastian turned his attention towards Nick, Jeff and Trent. And for them, he had reserved some new depth of malignancy.

Anything else they could have taken. Anything else but what he did.

With the first serene expression they had ever observed upon his countenance, he outed Nick and Jeff's relationship to the class, in a sneering, discrediting manner which made it sound unwholesome. But more than that, he took away their right to decide, because whether they were ready or not, their secret was out, and it would circulate the school in less than a day.

And then, for good measure, he cast aspersions on Trent's own orientation, leaving all three of them mortified and wishing the ground would grace their shame by swallowing them whole.

Sebastian Smythe never needed to be told when to leave; he staged his exit like a pro.

His intention achieved, he left the outcome to the wild factor of chance.

And once again; no-one thought to stop him, no-one made him face up to the consequences of what he had done. But it was a victory without joy upon his part, because the acts of jealousy never brought peace, as he learned thereafter.

Nick, Jeff and Trent watched as the eyes of their peers adjusted to viewing them in a new scope; watched as each and every one looked upon them differently. They felt like ants under the intensity of a magnifying glass. Burning, burning, burning …

Ultimately it was always the tone of Sebastian's own behaviours which prevented the homing of sympathy.

~ * … * ~

They channelled the greater portion of their injustice into fine-tuning the technicalities of their plan, but the whispers still abounded; spreading like wildfire, even in the absence of their attention, and the maliciousness of what he had done still hurt with the rawness of a wound. Given the choice, each of them would have willingly exchanged revenge for the price of discretion, but things just didn't work that way, because what we said, we could never un-say afterwards, despite the ardency of a wish.

All three of them were subdued as they sat in the canteen, awaiting the arrival of their associates, their hunger turned abruptly to nausea. Stony faced and introverted, they each built their fortifications and took refuge behind them, fearing the onslaught. Diligently, they ignored every glance which was cast in their direction; whether it was friendly or not. Too much of themselves already had been revealed to people who possessed no right to the information.

No-body could ever make them regret the hardships they had undertaken even just to get this far, nothing would ever make them ashamed of their love; they were proud and they were lucky. But they had known it from the start; meeting with acceptance would be a rarity, because tradition just didn't understand that love wasn't static, and people were increasingly dissuaded from dreaming. Therefore; they had two choices left to them; to teach or to be taught, and they were not particularly receptive to prejudice. It was time the world learned.

In an act of open defiance, Nick laid his hand upon Jeff's shoulder; showing they would not back down. But it was more than that, it was a consolation, because he knew this was hard for Jeff, even without witnessing the timidity in his eyes; the fear of a hare staring down the barrel of a hunters gun, and comprehending the series of events which were about to follow, all too well. This was an echo of the past which he had never wanted to revisit, but Nick knew he was stronger now, strong enough to know his mind and bare the injustice for love. And no-one was going to hurt Jeff, not without going through him first.

They had long since confessed to each other, the ghosts of their respective pasts, and he remembered Jeff now, imploring him to believe that what people said wasn't true, at a time when they were, really, too young to understand anyway.

"Everything will be okay," he told him emphatically, and with unshakable conviction, "I _promise_ you I'll make it."

Jeff nodded, stiffly, once, meeting the appeal of Nick's eyes and holding them until fears paralysis thawed. Nick was always his anchor to the dreamlike reality they inhabited.

"I know," he swallowed, finding his voice, "I don't care what people say. I love you, and if they can't accept that, it's their loss."

Nick sighed, overcome with brilliant emotion, and then, passing his thumb across Jeff's cheek, he said in a awing tone;

"Where do you find the strength to be so brave?"

"I learned it from you."

Trent watched them pensively. Would it really be so bad? … No, he didn't think so. Most of the time, even, they made it seem wonderful.

He had never gone searching, because it had never mattered to him before, but now he felt it as a void within him; a part of himself which he did not know and whose prominence was forcing a disconnection from everything that he did. Who was he, in the physical sense? What did love mean to him?

Without permission, the words tumbled out, tripping over each other in their haste of pronouncement;

"Do you guys think I'm …" He couldn't say it. He couldn't even say it. Watching their interactions intoxicated him on love, and yet he couldn't even begin to use the same fate to describe himself. What was wrong with him?

Nick and Jeff frowned, considering. It was true that they knew him too well to aptly judge with the separation this question needed. Friendship only allows observation in so much.

"I don't know whether I am or not," he continued uncertainly, fingering the piping of his blazer with careful intention, his eyes determinedly averted while the words continued to spill out. "I've never been in love. I've never even had feelings for anyone, not properly." And then, in a slightly more tremulous tone;

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" _Now_ he looked at them, his eyes imploring truth, reflecting trepidation.

"No," Jeff's voice was soft, a gentle reassurance, and his expression was angelic, "you just haven't found the right person yet. When you're ready you'll know. Don't rush into things you don't feel just because you think they should have already happened. Love's worth waiting for to do it right." Nick had taught him that.

Trent appeared somewhat mollified, but Nick knew the difficulty of the prospect of accepting oneself as something other than what you had always been; a doubt which hung on to the last tenacious moment. And so, he told Trent now, what he had told Jeff what seemed like so many years in the past:

"Whether you are, or whether you aren't, it wont change who you are to us. Nothing will."

And then, in time-honoured tradition of their friends aversion to serious conversation, they looked at each other with a speculative glance, before amending in a shared sentence:

"Although - " Nick began, elongating the syllable for emphasis.

" - if you came to us and said you were converted to cannibalism, we might be forced to reconsider our opinion."

Trent grinned;

"Well, I'm sure we would have gotten into some compromising situations if we hadn't cleared that up."

Their confederates arrived in a single swell; a mixture of relishing and grim-set expressions. But though they waited, the youngest of their number; Joel, did not show.

As Nick considered each of them in turn, he almost laughed aloud to realize what a motley crew they were. The three friends who had both seen and bore too much of corruption; the schemer, who was just a few steps short of becoming the one who he sought to usurp; the listener, who now used silence to speak when words went unheard; and the fallen figure, who engaged in lawlessness to reinstate order. Six different reasons for the same one action. How had it come to this?

"So …" Theo kicked off the session with the same pride, arrogance and demeaning he used when addressing someone who did not hold a position of power over him, and therefore, in his eyes at least, was less than him.

"Any bright idea on how to penetrate the enigma of our glorious one?"

Because, of course, Theo's role in their union was not to be constructive, but to snipe and shout down the ideas of the others as being unworkable, without straining himself to contribute any of his own. Very helpful.

So since the self-important Warbler embodied all the traits which Jeff's experiences had taught him to fear and shun, and Trent freely admitted that, forced into an extended exchange with him, he would end up saying something they would all regret, Nick had stepped up to deal with the boy who was a dangerous friend, but an even more dangerous enemy.

"Better. We have a plan," Nick told him in a dismissive tone; dismissive of his overbearing.

At this news, Thad grinned. Maybe out of all of them, he had suffered the most degradation, and over such a prolonged period, that now, given the chance, he was more than eager to do something active. Meanwhile, Theo just appeared bored, as if everything they had come up with, he had dreamed first.

Jeff watched the distrustful figure with mounting dislike, thinking all the while; liability. Even if he contributed nothing, he made up their numbers, that was the reminder they had to keep at the forefront of their will, but it would be a sore day if they ever needed him for something again.

Nick indicated for Trent to continue, after all, the credit for the epiphany was owed to him. And with suitable significance, the sassy Warbler uttered the one name which had become like their mantra;

"Piers Smith."

A murmur circulated their congregation as Trent looked between them with relish. An autumn wind rustling through the restless leaves of a canopy.

The three friends were still determined to unravel the mystery Sebastian presented, but taking into account very raw and recent events, retribution was pushed forward; for themselves, for Kurt and Blaine, for anyone else Sebastian had crossed and left bleeding in the streets.

Luke's serene expression turned quickly to apprehension. He had made the necessary steps, but in doing so, had leapt one length too far. They were not about to throw Regionals. In fact they were still holding out for a miracle on that front, hoping against better judgement that, somehow, everything would be solved by then.

"No, nothing quite so dramatic as that," Trent assured him with amusement; "think smaller scale; think minor uprising and _very_ peaceful protest, where, rather than fighting him, we give him exactly what he wants." Trent sold it like a professional to the receptive crowd.

Their plan was of a mould which Sebastian could appreciate at length; cunning – a tribute to him. It was also clever, for the very best ideas were drawn from a simple notion and then engorged. They were made great, not born it.

But, of course, there is always one:

"And whose Piers Smith supposed to be?" Theo demanded. His brutality demonstrated his distinct lack of appreciation for being reminded that he did not, contrary to his own opinion, know everything.

Thad looked like he was about to suffer an aneurysm at the prospect that a Warbler did not know his lineages history. Nick, Jeff and Trent fought a valiant battle to stifle their laughter, because the spirit of Wes and David would forever live on in him.

To everyone's surprise, it was Luke who fielded the brusque demand. Apparently, he who never wasted words on unnecessary civility, had many to spend upon this matter.

"Maybe you do not recognise the name, but the action is infamous, and has divided Warbler opinion for fifteen years."

It was instantly obvious that Luke, whose brilliant mind was only ever satisfied on the wild throes of paradoxes, and operated on a plain of higher thinking, had given the antithesis of these actions many hours enjoyable consideration.

He outlined the historical event with alacrity to the one who had never listened, but listened now, such was the presence Luke commanded. Concluding with the customary close-ended question;

"But was he a sinner or a saint?"

"Oh yeah! I remember him," Theo waved away the reminder, his boastful persona restored; as if he had known all along and had merely been testing them. "Man, what he did was stupid."

As one, they frowned at him, incredulity abounding. The actions of one Piers Smith had been called many things over the years, stupid, however, had not been one of them.

Not caring to notice their reaction, however, Theo continued unabridged, for after all, the world was just his audience; an amateur group of actors in awe of a master.

"I mean, come on! The kid auditioned for thirty-two solo's and never secured one? He must have sucked! Putting him centre stage would have probably been equal to handing over the Regionals title with a singing telegram. And besides, it never made a difference anyway, fifteen years on and we still have the same democracy. If that was me, I would have made sure people listened. What he did was weak."

Theo had missed the point completely. His closeted manner of thinking was without depth or breadth, meaning he would never see anything which wasn't the testimony of his own eyes, and even then he would largely miss the understanding of it; would never know anything which wasn't the precedent of his own mind; would never perceive the intricacies of anything which wasn't done for material gain, no matter the patience of the explainer. He was a lost cause, a child of ignorance, whose bred was gaining populance in the world.

Life was a free reign of interpretation; whether it was lived each day to the full; whether it was wasted in regret; whether looking back, it eventually won out to happiness, or, too often afflicted, was consumed by sorrow. And the actions of the living were similarly given.

Did the actions of Piers Smith represent an old ideology; to never submit to a perceived inequality? Or were they just the selfish impulses of a boy made bitter and cruel by obsession? Were his actions designed to the benefit of all those who lifted up their voices to song, as was later claimed by some in his defence? Or would it have only been _himself_ who benefited; an unwholesome end to an unwholesome cause? Was his stand one for morality, or baser deviancy? Was he a villain, or was he a hero? Did he deserve their malignancy? Or was he perhaps, more politely owed their respect?

It was an enigma which could dive one crazy with the determination to solve it. And on a scale of the unfathomable, it was up there with the old 'chicken and egg' fiasco.

Nick gazed at Theo levelly, just trying to work him out. Had these been the good old days of fond remembrance, he was certain Thad would have accosted the wilful ignorance with an exhaustive lecture upon the finer points of Warbler legacy; from which it was their duty to learn. As it was, however, it seemed his resistance had grown in oppression, for Thad remained silent, though Nick saw all it cost him.

It had been Jeff who, the previous night, had surmised the affair best; it was the wrong action done for the right conviction.

"Well … that analysis aside," Nick said, making a clear point of dismissing the outcry, while being careful not to incite Theo's abrasive temperament by direct challenge; "Our plan makes use of the same silence. Since he's become Head Warbler, Sebastian has sought relentlessly to dictate and control. And each of us, at some point, have contested some movement or dug our heels in when tradition was usurped for radical revolution, only, we succeeded in nothing but making him more determined. This time, however, none of us will oppose him; instead, we'll give him free reign to order us exactly as he will, the only snag being, of course; that his audience won't answer him, won't even acknowledge him. We'll beat him by giving him exactly what he wants, and then revealing the emptiness of the attainment. You can't go on treating people with the inconsideration he has shown us and expect to get away with it. Tonight at Warbler rehearsal; whatever he says, whatever he does, we have to look right through him. Sebastian isn't afraid of confrontation, but what he is afraid of, is silence."

Nick was startled to feel the effect the significant words worked upon him; lighting a fire in his veins. He was not a bad person, and he had never gone in for revenge, but by god, he wanted to make Sebastian pay; he wanted to reimburse the misery in kind.

A heart as blighted as Sebastian's would never know what he had taken from them, and a nature as acrimonious would never care. But Nick was angry, and it was an anger which burned bright on injustice – the most flagrant kind – because this wasn't just about him.

Sebastian could do whatever he liked to him, and had, relentlessly. But time and time again, Nick had made the point, apparently without reception; that no-body laid a finger on Jeff, not on his guard. Not while there was breath in his body enough to sustain a voice, not while their was a will in his heart to protect. He knew his own fear, and he had witnessed its reciprocal in Jeff's eyes too, and he knew that no-body, and most especially, not Sebastian, owned the right to make them feel that way.

It wasn't the healthiest mindset for one to find themselves in, and it wasn't the most honourable motivation, but it _was_ the most compelling. He fought the the strangling fog of maelstrom to retain a semblance of level-headedness.

Jeff, naturally sensing his boyfriends turmoil, offered him an emphatic glance (a little resistant to reaching out in the company of so many untested parties, a reticent he knew Nick would understand.) He wished Sebastian a long and unhappy life in return for all he had done to Nick, and was still doing. For all he had done to each of them.

The excitement this proposition incited was almost tangible, and was met with rawring assent, despite its humble beginnings. Three faces alight with retributions delight envisioned the outcome of these standing actions, and in one particularly, there was a savage degree.

"However," Trent amended with a slightly sobering technicality, "We have to find a way to get everybody else onside, somehow. It will only work if all of us are in accordance. And anyone we can't get onside, we'll have to get out of the way."

Was it just him, or did this meeting echo of a bad gangster movie?

They frowned as one, considering the likelihood of each of their fellows assent; watching them fall into place like disfigured pieces in a half-puzzle.

Given the chance to star in his own silent stand, and make of it what he will, even Theo was found compliant, notwithstanding his previous derision, and lent his mind willingly to the effort. A boy discontent with the world, even as Sebastian was himself, who only found happiness when embroiled in a scheme of underhand tactics.

It was true that all of the Warblers were left now without direction; left after a period of forced dependency that they had come, fraction by fraction to depend on, once again to make decisions for themselves, while finding the skill accordingly remote. Their freedom had been destroyed and re-given, until they perceived it as the enemy and wanted oppression back.

They could be subdivided into two camps; those who still vehemently supported Sebastian, even despite his absence, and those who were stumbling blind on the planes of a foreign land just looking for a cause to follow. While it was invariably true that the latter camp was larger, it only needed for one adverse person to cast doubt upon a revolution; to sow the first seed which eventually toppled all.

Matthew, Christopher, John and Jack, they could reasonably take for granted could be won over, without undue strain to their cause; those who had stood that night with stone-like eyes and empty laughter. Andrew, they categorically could not, and would have to be displaced. And Flint – Flint was the wild card, which might go either way. However if they could exacerbate his resentment of abandonment, they would win him over to a new model of thinking too.

Liking this idea more and more for the legitimate excuse it provided for patronization, assumed superiority and intimidation rights, Theo did something unusual in volunteering his services.

"I've got this one," he grinned in a sardonic manner which was distinctly unsettling. "I'll get you an alliance."

Envisioning the necessity of a lot of damage limitation from letting Theo out alone on a mission of such calibre, Nick took the opportunity to impose his own condition, without making it appear as such. He got the feeling that the two would somehow subdue and accentuate one another through the compliment of their vastly dissimilar personalities.

"Okay, you and Luke take care of everyone we know we can win over." And then, as an afterthought, and in a show of good faith, though Theo never had a problem with making himself heard, (which, after all, was what Nick was counting on) he added with a wry grin; "make them listen."

Theo and Luke glanced at one another for a moment, sizing the other up; identifying various strengths and weaknesses and forward planning how to exploit them. In mien, it was distinctly predatory. They must have found something of appeasement, however, though it was not visible on their countenances, because both acquiesced without protest.

As people, they were a million shades away from one another, but yet, there was some symmetry between them, which marked them out as the perfect partnership.

"Thad," Nick continued, turning his attention to the former council member, and offering up a role they both knew he would relish; "think you can handle Andrew and Flint?" It was a redundant question, except for the satisfaction of seeing Thad smile.

"You can count on it."

Andrew pretended a front of haughty import which had never been his to bare. An arm indeed grown long under Sebastian's reign; a footman who took on the guise of a king, and wore a crown his own conceit told him should have been his. It would give Thad inordinate pleasure to put him back in his place. And Flint was too power hungry and too easily influenced, without being strictly smart enough to watch his own back. His lust one day would be his own undoing.

"The lie doesn't have to be brilliant," Nick told him, again redundantly, because when had Thad ever given anything less than three-hundred percent? It formed part of the reason why he had been made the youngest council member in the first place. "It just has to get them out of the way and keep them there for the duration."

"And what will _you_ all be doing while we're running around on your orders?" The words were spoken by Theo, of course, and directed towards Nick, Jeff and Trent. Certainly they should have known better than to believe purpose had mellowed him.

"We'll be securing information about Sebastian to use against him," said Jeff with a tone which left no room for argument, and was so unlike any they had ever collectedly heard him use before. There was only so much even the best nature could take of Theo's impertinence.

As one, they turned to regard him in surprise. There was something, maybe in his fathomless eyes, maybe in this, the precise moment he had chosen to release his voice, maybe in his fierce defence, that even Theo didn't argue with. Timid Jeff had made the intimidator back down. Was it wrong that Nick had to repress the urge to gloat?

But it was in that moment when Nick looked at Theo, _really_ looked at him, that he perceived; the rumours had already proceeded them, and Theo's seedy eyes were ever seeking a sign. Nick could only imagine what the self-appreciative Warbler thought he knew, and the aspersions angered him; the worst people continually judged the best by their own standards.

The responsibilities accordingly divided, the confederates dispersed; leaving the three friends alone once again. Simultaneously they each heaved a sigh of relief; more owed to the meeting being over than its reached resolution. One figure had certainly made it a trying discussion.

And in that brief moment of repose, stolen in an absurd day, was unlikely revealed to them the colour of an afore unspecified motive, which had hung, like a distant threat upon the horizon, above them all. Kurt, like the common messenger of two far removed lives, brought the truth in the medium of a voice which never spoke.

Jeff read the text first with incredulity, and them showed it to Nick and Trent's disbelief. It read;

_Santana bugged herself. She has everything, including Sebastian's admission that he put rock salt in the slushie, on tape. _

Trent and Nick whistled as one.

"Sneaky," Nick accused, raising an eyebrow.

"But clever!" Trent returned, with a quiet admiration.

Now that they considered it, her intention had been obvious, or, at least, it should have been. And yet, they would never have assumed it under their own steam, because people just didn't think like that nowadays; either to act or to accuse. But apparently, she did.

But it didn't matter anyway, because Blaine had already made his decision, and whatever their personal feelings towards it, they were duty bound to honour it, because friendship was a bond of give and take. It was the perfect evidence, but this was an imperfect situation, and the two would never accommodate. It was a hopeless dream.

It was as the exited the canteen, that they were approached by a diminutive and hesitant figure who they didn't immediately recognise as Joel. As a presence, he exuded the air of one keen to fall in with an older crowd, and thereby, vicariously represent maturity, but without really knowing the rudiments of how to approach it. Eternally eager to please, but also, cautious as to being taken advantage of. He was, undeniably, an interesting mix.

He held something secretively and protectively in his arms, stuffed pell mell into a dog-eared file. And everyone who passed him, he regarded with suspicion.

"Hey Joel," Nick greeted genially when the nervous figure halted before them. "Where were you?"

Without a word, Joel pushed the file into Nick's surprised hands, instantly relaxing once it was out of his possession.

Jeff and Trent observed him with confusion, which slowly took on the cast of trepidation as they read something in his eyes. Meanwhile, under Joel's careful attention, Nick turned the nondescript file over and over again in his hands, descrying nothing.

"What's this?" he asked, keeping his tone even and somewhat conciliatory, sensing the boys fervour.

Joel's answer was forthcoming and unapologetic, and left them all speechless and stunned for a moment;

"Sebastian's records."

They glanced at each other in mute shock, while the file in Nick's hands seemed to grow hot with incrimination. Then, the spell was broken.

"What?" Trent spluttered, looking both horrified and vaguely impressed. What had this kid _landed_ them in? For the possession of illicit documents, probably prison.

Joel's eyes darted with a paranoid alacrity, around the faces of those who occupied the near vicinity, anticipating their betrayal. Trust him with the countries secrets, one would not, and yet _he_ had managed to attain the information whose means of collection had eluded them all. There was something remarkable in him.

He wrung his hands nervously, and refused to meet their eyes, confused and made reticent by a response he had not expected, inadvertently revealing the still very childlike identity of the boy who was trying to hard to be a man.

"You wanted information on Sebastian," he reminded them, "I got it for you."

Jeff, adopting a kind tone, reached out to him, as one whose uncertainty caused him to question whether he had made the right decision or not. One simple interrogative which was also a reassurance;

"How?"

Joel responded instantly to the gesture, even managing a weak smile which Jeff echoed in response.

"I've got a friend who knows how to hack into the school system. He owed me a favour."

And then, he appeared to consider something, and their affront accordingly made sense.

"Those are just photocopies you know?" He didn't miss their relief as he elaborated in reassurance; "We used the principles log in – it's the only one whose activity isn't tracked – on a independent computer, making the information untraceable. No-one will ever know you have them, because no-one will ever know a copy exists."

They each looked at him for a second, comprehending the weight of what this seemingly insignificant figure had said, before bursting into delightful laughter. Joel was an absolute genius! Like a rat through the drain pipe, cunning and virtually undetectable. As an understated person, he had proved Nick right by revealing himself the most surprising.

"Joel, this is brilliant!" Nick commended, now viewing the unassuming file with new reverence, and causing the younger Warbler to blush self-consciously. "But why didn't you come to us before? Why wait till now?"

Nick could feel the power of knowledge diffusing into his every cell by mere proximity alone. This was it; the answers to the secrets of his past masquerading as a modest document. They each basked in the pinnacle of the moment, and the promise it proposed.

Joel shrugged, a gesture in paradox to the expression in his eyes;

"It's private," was all he said.

But what he _meant_ was: if the information ever, by some misdemeanour, got out and was used against Sebastian by certain shallow honoured parties – Theo – then it would be his fault. Not because the information could ever be traced back to him, indeed he had made it so it couldn't, or not because such sympathies could be forced if they were not present, but because his soul was one as would such be tortured unduly if anyone ended up getting hurt because of him, because, despite all that he had done, Joel still showed Sebastian the consideration owed to a fellow man, which sometimes anger could forget.

The realization sobered them and made them humble. This kid would be great one day, because already, he showed the marks of a true gentleman.

And without further comment, he turned from them and began to walk away, calmer now that his role had been fulfilled.

"Wait," Trent called, "Don't you want to read it to? After all, you went through the trouble of getting it."

"Oh," Joel smiled shyly again, "that's alright. I think I'd just rather go and find someone to fill me in on what I've missed."

And just like that, he left them standing there bemused, trying to pry meaning from the massive u-turn events had taken in the last ten minutes alone.

Though we may walk among each other as equals, we will never understand one another. _People_ are the true mysteries of life.

They took sanctuary in a classroom they knew from experience would be empty. And with shaking hands they each leafed through the documents, feeling within their hearts, a curious sensation of fulfilment and immorality. They were delving into a part of his life which he would never readily reveal; his past. It was not a definitive biography, but it was the only measure of truth they were likely to recieve. Something in the back of their minds stunted their guilt, strangled it before it could bare fruit, because now, both parties had violated the others right to secrecy. But that didn't make their retaliatory action right, far from it, in fact.

They each selected a sheet and pursued, reading over each others shoulders; conferring the details and endorsing them. Piece by piece, they put together the story of his life thus far.

_Born 14__th__ of July 1994 in Nice; France. Sebastian was the only child of Lillian Ferenze, then 28 and Arthur Smythe, then 30 (unmarried)._

_He displayed both an exceptional mind and capability from an early age. By three years old, he was already fully literate, and was working at a first grade level. At four, he won his first state spelling bee, with the word; 'untoward' – the starting block for the plethora of awards and distinctions which soon followed. Tests undertaken that same year confirmed Sebastian's intelligence as being placed in the region of 180: genius._

Trent whistled appreciatively, shaking his head;

"No _wonder_ Dalton wanted him!"

Nick and Jeff, meanwhile, endeavoured to digest the fact that Sebastian was like the Moriarty to their Mrs. Hudson. Suddenly their brilliant plan didn't seem so brilliant, nor crossing him so advisable. His aptitude certainly accounted for his ability to get inside peoples heads.

_At seven, he discovered his avenue in singing; a raw talent which was quickly harnessed. A swell of awards, predictably, followed. _

_But Sebastian failed to remain at any school long enough to make more than a passing impression. Due to the demands of his parents careers, the family moved around a lot, and to such a consistent degree that, by fourth grade alone, he had attended some twenty-four schools, across country and continent alike. _

"_That_ must have been hard," Jeff sympathised. The double edged knife of anonymity and fame.

Nick smiled, and ran a hand down the blondes back. That was one of the beautiful thing about Jeff, he was always compassionate, always thinking of others, while Nick, a little bolder, had walled in his own generous feeling, making it a place where few people were granted admission.

_Despite this, Sebastian was continually described as; 'enthusiastic,' 'popular,' 'brilliant,' and by one Mrs. Lawson; 'a sweetheart,' even. He remained a straight A student, and participated in as many clubs and after school activities as would fill a phone book, receiving a form of excellence recognition in each. _

_However, in fifth grade, everything changed, and Sebastian began acting out. His grades took a nose dive, and he became belligerent, angry, disruptive. His behaviour, however, was explained away by all the upheaval his life had entailed. His parents were called into the school, and it was agreed that he would meet with a councillor twice a week, to discuss any outstanding anxieties. _

The more rational portion of Nick's brain knew that he should have felt sorry for the boy whose life had never known stability, because his parents had never put down roots; the boy who was forced again and again, against his will, to make friends and adjust, with the knowledge that; as soon as he had done so, he would be forced to begin again; and the boy who was duty bound to live up to the reputation his intelligence had bought him, where chastisement was more readily given when he slipped, than encouragement when he sustained. It was a lot of pressure for a child to deal with.

But, somehow, Nick just couldn't bring himself to think like that, instead all he thought was; and now we begin to see the real Sebastian come out.

_The sessions appeared to steer him back on track, and he further remained at Willow-Sash for three years; the longest period he had spent so far in a single school._

_But the relief was short lived. At thirteen years old, things for Sebastian began to reach a head again, and this time, culminated in an expulsion for the possession and consumption of alcohol on school grounds, as well as the supply to other minors. _

_The family relocated to Canada, but the move came to late to salvage anything. Sebastian was already too out of control. The brilliant, sweet-natured boy, was a figure he had buried forever. This version of himself was the loose cannon which had endured. _

_His school work continued to decline; reaching new lows of abysmal standard, and he was confronted over allegations of bullying. When teachers wrote about him now, they used adjectives such as; 'misguided,' 'apathetic,' 'damaged,' 'lonely.' Terms more socially agreeable than the ones they really wanted to express._

_This time, the excuse given was a breakdown in communications with his parents, which showed very little chance of resolution. No counselling was offered. _

_He dropped out of school and relocated to Paris, where he lived with his grandparents. Three months later, he enrolled at Dalton, and they footed the bill. _

So, Sebastian was a sweet and innocent nature gone to ruin, and a genius gone to seed. Somehow, all their answers had succeeded in doing was raising more questions. The fruition of their search left them feeling numb when they should have been elated.

"It's like you can see his whole life on paper," Trent said, in a subdued tone, leafing through the sheets with heavy and somewhat despondent movements; "how it began, where it all went wrong, when it spiralled out of control. It's kind of … sad. It's really sad, actually, just … in a way I can't really describe. But, of course, the question is why? Why did it spiral out of control?"

Nick didn't answer. In truth, he didn't like how learning about their fellow Warbler's past had made him consider Sebastian's humanity – because knowing about them, made a person real. It was not until their heads had been turned from resentment to sympathy for him, that he had realized; just how much bad blood lay between them; an entire ocean.

Nick was the used, the abused and the manipulated, and Sebastian was the instigator of it all. But the anger he harboured, Nick was slowly coming to realize, was only hurting himself, and more than Sebastian's actions ever had. He had to find a way to reconcile these passions, he had to find a way to let it go; for his own sake.

He knew what Jeff would say, and could envision him saying it, in fact, in that tone, so soothing, so reassuring and so wise; '_You have to allow yourself to forgive him. How can absolution be weakness when everyone calls it divine? It doesn't matter if you feel like you owe him nothing. You owe __**yourself**__ the right to heal.'_

He owed himself the right to peace.

Their intention had always been to secure the information and use it against him. Strip away the secrecy they now understood as a defence mechanism, and present him to the world in earnest. But, somehow, they just didn't feel that way any more. Sebastian's record hinted at much they didn't know, and yet, it evoked sympathy for exactly that unknown. The boy who had suffered, acted out in a desperate cry for help; had just wanted for someone, somewhere to reach out. To use that against him would be cruel, would make them no better than him.

They would still go through with their plan, of course, a malicious will and acts of wanton destruction were not something which would go unchallenged on their watch. But for the first time, Nick entertained the strange sensation that, once all this was over, he might yet find forgiveness in himself for Sebastian. And that was a revelation.

In just two days, Jeff's love had in turn, remade him; allowed him to cast aside the shackles of himself without fear, and attain a state of tranquilly, through which, only love entered.

How could someone who had never known repentance, learn to repent, when the only things ever shown to him were scorn and anger? First, they had to teach him a lesson, but after that, they just had to teach him; save a life before they were forced to watch its own untimely destruction.

Jeff extracted the last document from the file and pursued it with careful attention, while Nick and Trent considered all that they had learned. It exuded an officialism that none proceeding it had proposed to impress.

As comprehension dawned, his expression froze in place; a constitution of loss, affect and the shock of innocence.

Attuned as he was to the very inner sanctum of the blondes soul, Nick's head quickly snapped up, tasting his sudden distress.

"What is it?" he asked softly, but with enough firmness to make Jeff react.

Trent looked up from the collection of report cards he had been perusing to frown at the scene.

With a lost expression in his eyes, Jeff held the single sheet out for their own confirmation. And then in a small and subdued tone;

"Sebastian's emancipated …"

"What?" Nick and Trent cried, unified in incredulity, moving forward to drink in the details of the document with a sort of macabre curiosity.

There was no denying the black ink. It was a declaration of emancipation, as sure as they had ever seen one. Sebastian had divorced his parents.

That it happened daily in every state was true, but it unsettled them to confront it so close to home. Parents and their children disagreed, next to gravity holding us to the earth, it formed part of the natural order of things; one was always pulling back, while the other struggled to break the bonds of restraint. Never in a lifetime would a person encounter again a relationship so integral and yet so tenuous. And sometimes, things seemed irresolvable, lives grown too far apart to go back. But what could his parents possibly have done to make Sebastian estrange them?

The act, however, was not even the most shocking aspect. The document boasted two dates; the day the claim was initially filed, and the day it was passed. The former was the one which they concerned themselves with, and which left them feeling cold and somehow hollow. The 14th of January 2004.

Sebastian had filed for emancipation on his fourteenth birthday.

~ * … * ~

They left their sympathies for Sebastian locked inside that room, where secrets belonged, keeping the company of dust. Instead, they turned to stoicism, forcing a removed, unbiased consideration of events.

They forced themselves to forget everything they had learned about him; everything which had never been confided; abruptly unconvinced that finding out had actually been the more preferable option, because the attainment left them cold.

Belatedly, they began to realize, that what they had embroiled themselves in was a battle of morality, where, whatever they did, and for whatever reason, would be subject to disdain and commendation concurrently. And, where no decision would ever be categorically right or wrong, but would evermore continue to divide and incite opinion arguing both. They could never win, but also, they would never lose, because morality was abstract.

It was an impossible situation, and so, unsurprising when pretending normality was found easier; a welcome digression, even.

Shyly, but with a resolute conviction in the hallway where anyone could have seen them, Jeff slipped his hand into Nick's, and Nick squeezed back in response; as natural as breathing.

They had two choices, and they chose now not to hide. People would either accept them or shun them; it was as simple as that, but what they would not do, was force them into submission; make them ashamed of who they were. Not now they had found each other.

"I still have something to show you …"

Did revelations such as those Sebastian's past entailed, cancel out simple gestures of love, or did they make them all the more necessary? An assurance against emulation.

Nick's grin, which bordered on the persuasion of mischief, answered the question for him: it made them all the more integral. How had friendship turned to love so readily as to leave him breathless, and yet, still running to conquer new and glorious territory?

Nick remembered well the previous night when the words had got their début; just as their lips, moving closer and closer together, had brushed for one infinitesimal moment; just long enough to taste. '_I want our first kiss to be special._'

Both felt the electricity which passed between them at every touch, but both were holding back; in possession of no clear definitive, and fearing they were moving too fast. Both wanted to go there, wanted to cross that glorious territory and enter into forever, but they also wanted to do it right; and that took time. Because love deserved allure, and love deserved respect.

And, suddenly, normality was not a thing they needed to pretend, because with each other, they fell back into the habit easily.

"Do you still want … I mean, can I …" Jeff frowned, blushing, for suddenly he was tongue tied; something which had never happened before in speaking to Nick.

Jeff, who was always too at home within himself to be malleable to Sebastian's influence; who had accepted, without angst, his feelings for Nick as soon as they were stirred – because he knew they didn't change him – was suddenly unsure about himself; nervous in asking Nick to accompany him. It was completely endearing.

"Try and stop me," Nick grinned, an expression which left the blonde momentarily dazzled.

Trent watched the scene as an outsider looking in; feeling every rush and swell of emotion as if he was a figure in the moment, rather than an observer intruding. Often, we take a second to become enthralled in the lives of strangers, as if we know them, so why not friends too, who we actually know?

Breaking free from his reverie, he looked between them with amusement. When they turned to regard him, he held up his hands;

"I know, I know. I can take a hint. You kids have fun." He tipped an imaginary hat to them and began to walk away. That was one of the best things about Trent; he understood people, sometimes better even than they understood themselves. He understood Nick and Jeff.

Watching them, he had began to think: that it wasn't about _who_ you loved, it was just about love; that feeling of wholeness. And if he did turn out to be … gay, well, as long as he found someone like Nick or Jeff, then, maybe that would be okay.

Left alone, Jeff worked hard to subdue his erratic heartbeat into some semblance of composure; knowing his panic was unfounded and unnecessary, but still being unable to quell it anyway. The sensation of Nick beside him, which at any other time was a comfort, worked against him now as a means of discomposure only. Confessing their love was easy, acting upon it instinctual, but transforming that besotted romance into spontaneous gestures, was yet something which made them feel almost too vulnerable.

He didn't realize how clammy his palms were, until Nick crooned;

"Relax, baby."

It took a few moments for both of them to suitably realize what he had said.

Upon doing so, Nick's eyes adopted the cast of a frightened animals, helpless to its own imminent demise, stumbling traitorously in the dark. He tried to pull away, cursing himself for trying to move too fast, and cursing the nature of his restraint, which was found weaker now that he had given into it.

Jeff, however, held him firm. Replaying the glorious slip of chance over and over again in his mind on a loop. The last thing he wanted in this moment which inevitably brought them closer, was for Nick to retreat, taxing himself a misguided wrong.

Nick had called him _baby_.

He couldn't find the words necessary to speak, nor the order to think. It was like that moment of confession all over again; flooding him with infinite possibilities. One word, that was all it took; an endearment and assurance of love, to lend him the confidence to be unafraid. Nick didn't even know what he had wrought.

"I'm sorry!" Nick babbled almost incoherently, refusing to meet Jeff's eye. "I didn't mean to. It just slipped out! What was I _thinking_? God, I'm such an idiot! I -"

"I like it," Jeff said, simply. His tone was soft, shy, almost, and yet, it cut through Nick's fluster with as little resistance as a knife through the air.

"What?" the brunette frowned, chancing a quick glance at Jeff's countenance, and finding nothing but sincerity there.

"I like it," Jeff repeated, with an encouraging smile, which Nick, after a further moments hesitation, responded too. "It makes me feel warm; _wanted_. It's like a mini 'I love you,' concealed behind a word."

He closed the distance between them, laying his head loyally upon Nick's shoulder, and waiting for Nick's arms to return the embrace. He wasn't long disappointed. Slowly, they now began to remember what shock had initially usurped; the conviction that they didn't care what people thought.

The affection of a word, and the heat of a body cooling from its own bashfulness, diffused into Jeff like a shot of raw courage.

Finally, Nick recovered enough composure to speak. And his first words were a reassurance to Jeff, because the blonde was his whole world, and he came first, before everything.

"You don't have to show me if you're too nervous, I'll understand. But, just so you know; there's nothing that you'll ever do that wont amaze me."

Jeff giggled self-consciously at the compliment, something which both of them were still so unused to taking, and melted free of Nick's arms.

"I _want_ to," he said emphatically. And then, with a small, slightly self-mocking smile; "it's just; all of this seemed so much easier in my head."

When didn't things? When in the mind all you needed to circumnavigate a problem was a new way of thinking, action would always be harder. When you could dream impossible things, culminating in impossible results, reality would always yield disappointment. Yes, things were always easier in the consideration, it was a field where extraneous variables did not play.

They walked hand in had, stealing this hour of borrowed time to be free.

Jeff had considered recruiting Trent for the effort. But even in thought, an additional party had made the moment less intimate, even if it enhanced the sound; a moment which was meant to be theirs.

Music was something which enhanced each of their lives indiscriminately, something which they had all grown up loving, and which formed the integral element of who they were. All the pain, all the heartache and all the elation of living, they harnessed and channelled into song, and though it was their voices which produced the sounds, it was their hearts which gave it feeling. Music was expression, a medium to help them come to terms with chance, and to any Warbler, of course, came naturally. Not a day at Dalton was ever passed in want of a song.

And, it was to music now which Jeff turned; using the words of another to marry with the purpose of his own. A serenade, for words were the mind, and the song was in his soul.

However, his nerves did not stem from the prospect of singing for Nick personally. Nay, they were the result of never having really sung unaccompanied in front of _anyone_ before. Silly, right?

Nick hummed lightly as they stepped out into the open air; which was cold and brisk, of course, but worked the strange, inadvertent effect of sharpening their senses until it seemed they became attuned to every vibration of the others being, marking them fused, not merely bonded.

Nick swung their hands in an extravagant motion, until Jeff's serious expression gave way to that rich and mesmerizing laughter.

Even despite everything which had happened that day, for a moment they got back the chance to be carefree again.

Dalton had not began its life as a school, and even the name was something which had come later. There was history, even beyond the touch of what its own records kept; little known and little considered.

Built in 1868, its grandeur and heigh-ceilinged charm were commissioned by and reserved for one man; James Isiar, head of a small, sour faced family. A brood eternally malcontent and persistently at odds with one another. It was an estate built upon the shrouded faces of ill gotten gains. An ironic beginning, indeed, for what subsequently became the home of tradition and decorum.

A copious staff were employed; to keep the house so that the family didn't have to. But, though there were rooms enough spare, Isiar refused them permission to sleep within the walls of the estate they alone preserved; a patron of the caste system indeed.

And so, for their duration of service, they were housed in a small village of limestone shacks, built for the purpose in a discreet and neglected portion of the encompassing grounds. The fact that he preferred to invest in new resources rather share any of his own, both said a lot and very little for James Isiar.

But such is the nature of greed; that much always wants more – the Isiar family only retained possession of the estate for four years. James, involved in racketeering, invested too much money abroad, and, at the climax of his career, lost everything. The family fled, without the cradle of money to afford them protection and security, for James had made many enemies. Subsequently, they became untraceable to history.

The servants, soon after, defected the home of their masters, never having loved it. And the beautiful building was left for nature solely to claim.

The house fell into the ownership of the state, who could deign no purpose for it, and for fifteen years, it festered. Beauty, majesty, grandeur – ravaged.

Then, in 1887, a young man with a vision, a will to prove and a considerable inheritance, saw potential in the ruin to which everybody else turned a blind eye. And hope and purpose were born once again for the house that time had laid aside.

He bought it and restored it; he caressed every inch with love and transformed it. The grounds were extended; encapsulating fallow fields in a second beauty. And, in a peculiar quirk, which even in the present still defies comprehension; the entrance and the rear were exchanged for the raiment of the other. The servants village was walled in; a piece of history which no-one was prepared to take responsibility for.

And then, in 1890, he opened the doors to a school. And the man with a vision and a dream and a heart, became Dalton's first principle. The name, was an epitaph to his late father.

It was to this inconsequential little village, which time itself had discounted, locked away and determined to forget; that Jeff was leading Nick now. Where Jeff, Trent, Thad, Wes and David – before responsibility matured them – had once spent the night for a dare. Where Nick had never ventured. And whose clandestine air of a lost generation; whose echoes of the past and wild, overgrown beauty; and whose tale, reminiscent of one right out of his most beloved fantasy novels, had compelled Jeff, again and again, to scale the enclosing walls and lose himself in the rustic charms of its out-of-bounds sanctuary.

Love was in the beauty of nature, it was also in the beautiful work of human hands. Every mad had, tucked away in plain sight, some small portion of the world he lived to called his own; a home which was not a house, but a house where dreams were given liberty. It was this static freedom which Nick had first shared with Jeff, and the same which the blonde was now about to reciprocate.

As they halted, it was to affront a wall which was so strangled by ivy, moss and lichen, that barely an inch of the stone that had wrought it was traceable beneath. An epitaph to a hundred years of neglect; a hundred years of freedom. There was no break in its circumference, no door linking the past to the present. This was not a wall built to keep something in, this was a wall built for the single purpose of keeping people out. And, yet, it hadn't, if anything, it had done the adverse. The mystery, the allure, had instead _attracted_ them, and, in Jeff's case, enraptured them.

It was magnificent, and yet, unremarkable; inviting, and yet, indifferent; living, and yet, cold.

Jeff caught Nicks doubtful expression and understood it; despite their namesakes, Nick did not find solace up in the sky – he was at home only with his feet upon the ground – and the prospect of scaling this structure intimidated him.

They were the adventurer and the philosopher in eternally interchanging roles; each possessing the spirit to carry the other whenever they might need it.

What a blindfold had taken away two nights ago, plain sight now incapacitated; a strange, and somehow, fitting exchange of fate.

"Trust me," Jeff echoed Nick's words of the night, leading him aside, "I promise I won't let you fall." Although, he did wonder whether he was asking too much. But life was a risk, and we had to steel our courage to seize its chances.

Even despite himself, Nick laughed; the touch of Jeff's hand gave him a semblance of safe, no matter what they faced, and those words, even once his own, made him bold, compliant, and ready to take on the world. He knew, perhaps better than most, what words could do, experiencing them both in offer and receipt. But more importantly he knew what words from _Jeff_ could do; anything.

They, both of them, were smitten, and love was yet about asking too much, and somehow, not enough. Their love was pushing boundaries, conquering seemingly insurmountable heights. At the moment, quite literally, in fact.

At the most extreme point of its length, the overgrown and enclosing wall met with a partner; one which, in itself enclosed Dalton's breadth; smooth and white washed, it was an aesthetic feature more than a functional one, half the height of its ten foot predecessor and dominator; a recent addition. The invasive ivy could not touch it, could not anchor itself to the none porous stone. It was this point that Jeff chose for their assent, as the white wall could be employed as a brace and a boost to surmount.

"Don't worry," the blonde continued to soothe, pulling himself closer to Nick all the time and then fading away; his excitement making it impossible to stand still; and making Nick giddy vicariously, "I've done this hundreds of times, it's safe. The ivy's grown so thick that it'll easily support our weight."

As if to prove this claim, he reached out to secure purchase of a swollen branch, and shook it with all feasible might. The plant barely shivered.

"See?" he asked, grinning. He already knew he had Nick convinced.

"You know," Nick teased, raising an eyebrow, and capturing Jeff in his arms the next time he drew close, "I think we're taking spontaneity a tad extreme."

Jeff just giggled deliciously, a live-wire in Nick's hold; the earthbound sun bringing hope to the dreary population.

"Next time we're just going out for dinner and a movie." Nick inclined his head so that, for a moment, their noses touched; the scent of each other filling every pore, melding, complimenting, becoming one alluring aroma.

"And after that?" Jeff prompted.

"Well, _of_ _course_, after that we'll have to go back to doing something daring and reckless and out of bounds, but, you know, just to break up the monotony."

Day by day, they grew more certain, more confident, and more comfortable with what love had transformed, and it showed. Their relationship went from strength to strength, and they began to discover passion. They would always be cautious, but they would never again be afraid. Their love would always be reserved, and that was what made it perfect.

At Jeff's insistence, Nick went first. The blonde sticking close to his side a few inches below; guardian angle. How delightfully impossible the whole situation was! They were climbing a living ladder to their own transcendence.

In that instant, they knew; nothing would ever be the same again, but somehow, the prospect excited them; for it hinted nothing of loss, only gain. This was the moment which welcomed them to the first day of the rest of their lives, and they felt all the momentousness of it, until they were barely able to breath.

It was going to happen, they felt their instinct ready.

Though Nick commanded nothing of Jeff's grace and lithe agility, he conquered the wall and his own insecurity with commendable resource, so that Jeff's heart swelled with pride.

They leapt, as one, into an echo of the past; and the bounteous leaves of innumerable weeds broke their fall.

Drinking in the scene with novel eyes, Nick immediately understood the allure. This was a place about which a thousand tales had been written; which every mournful ballad retained a cherished memory of; which every artist had aspired to capture, even as a shadow, in their work. It was an ideal, and yet, it was wilder. It was a life, even though there was no-one left to live it. A history, though no-one cared to preserve it. It was a place where lives had met and exploded into chance, where love and friends had melded amongst those walking barefoot in the dirt, missing their families and abhorring their masters living needed them to serve. All of this was tangible even in the absence. There was magic; secrecy in the air; the answers to a simple life happiness, which the materialism of our today's world kept greedily for itself.

It was like entering into another world, but one which coincided with the one Nick and Jeff had taken for their own.

Time had degraded it, of course; a century of acidic rain had weakened the limestone structures, until more than half of their number had fallen; victims of age; broken remnants and shells upon the ground; but the defeat even, had given them grace. It was silent now, but one could imagine laughter; a geniality which their masteres never could have suppressed.

Where humans leave the world fallow, nature asserts its right, and had done so here with preponderance. Grasses, windflowers, weeds and brambles all grew here in harmony; larger than life before had ever made them. Gazing at them long enough made certainty unclear; whether nature had invaded industry, or industry had invaded nature first. Every description the eye had skill to render was there observed in cohesion and yet it cacophony.

Of the thirteen huts which remained; the structure was invariable. A simple three room, rectangular design; six windows, one door; built in what would have once been innumerable rows and columns of uniform. They were austere, and yet they boasted freedom; a liberty with which we could look back on the past.

Jeff watched Nick's awe with pleasure, as the brunette took in every meticulous detail; watched the same love he bore for the location incept upon another's features, and was happy.

"What do you think?"

"It's amazing!" Nick gasped, though his silence said more.

Grinning wildly, Jeff scrambled to his feet, and held out a hand to Nick;

"Care for the grand tour?"

They weaved in and out of the ruins, Jeff detailing all that he had learned or observed in his many visitations to Nick's rapt and ready attention. The sound of his voice speaking so extendedly without interruption, washed over the brunette like a glorious, encapsulating symphony. Was it possible, in the house of nature not only to observe, but to _feel_ love grow, as all things did?

At the last standing house, set somewhere in the heart of the mass, and denoted as number seventeen by a rude brand upon the door, they halted. To the power of sight, it appeared as like any other, and yet to instinct, it seemed in-ordinary.

To Nick's fascinated surprise, Jeff produced a key, and after some initial resistance, the bolt scraped aside, permitting them entrance into the presents past.

"If you looked hard and long enough, all of them would have a key." Jeff answered Nick's querying glance with deferential grace. Jeff the finder of souls and keys lost, Jeff the keeper of hearts and secrets safe.

"It was an age where people never took what they didn't need."

But outlining old values was a moot point when conversing with Nick; he embodied them all. Jeff Sterling had secured himself a gentleman; a king in the fields of lesser men.

At Jeff's inclination, Nick inched his way within curiously, the blonde following close behind. A dwelling un-lived-in and exposed to the elements for nigh on a century and a decade, disturbed only by intermittent presence, one would have expected to smell musty. But instead, all Nick smelt was … _pine_. Everywhere.

It was almost overwhelming; as if freshly cut sprigs had lingered in an unventilated room; intensifying their own scent to an alluring and compelling epitome. It rushed out to meet him and envelop him in its embrace. He staggered for a moment, overcome. It seems foolish that something so insubstantial as a scent can evoke so powerful an emotional response, and yet, it so frequently did.

To Nick, that scent meant indescribable bliss; more than content, more than ecstasy; a euphoria so overwhelming it had to emanate from a dream.

To Jeff, the scent simply meant Nick. It described him more befittingly than any other had the skill to do. It made him more real than reality itself made him. When they were alone, he could still distinguish it, though the source had been by this point, washed away. The scent still clung to him, more than a tactile memory.

"Jeff …" Nick ventured with flighty ebullience, knowing somehow, without really knowing, that the scent had became their own.

He felt the warmth of Jeff's self-conscious laughter skitter across the exposed skin of his neck, causing him to shiver in a manner which was not at all unpleasant, and felt the gentle brush of Jeff's arm against his own, as the blonde leaned into him.

"Don't laugh," Jeff begged, "but it reminds me of you. When you took me through the forest, it was everything I could smell. I could smell it too on your clothes when you first came back, and even since then, though its fainter. It reminds me of the excitement, the thrill of just being close to you; of the first moment we spent together." And then, with a wry grin; "Okay, I guess you can laugh."

But Nick didn't. Instead he repressed the urge to capture Jeff and kiss him, ignored the integral yearning which wished they could stay here, together, forever, and fought back the mourning sentiments of a dream which found inception, when you realized that, ardency aside, it could never come to fruition.

"God, Jeff! I love you," he cried with desperate affection.

Troubled by the fervour of his tone, Jeff reached out and smoothed the frown from Nick's features with his thumb, wondering at the brunettes sudden affect. Could he doubt that Jeff felt the same? Even the thought made him want to weep.

"I love you more," he returned emphatically.

They had traversed the terrains of hell and come back fighting – but the struggle left its mark. He just wanted to hold Jeff forever, protect him, and be protected by him; indulge in the liberty of love which this far had been disallowed to them. Sebastian would be their last fight, they resolved that then, one last ditch effort to edify.

"Impossible."

This time it was Nick who sought the embrace, and Jeff who indulged it. For the scope of minutes which felt like hours, they stood in the pine-scent silence, with no necessity to speak; where just holding each other was enough. In the houses of history, they were slowly making their own, and the timeless forgotten became them, as they laid the foundations for their future.

Finally, Jeff ventured to speak:

"We'd better get moving, or else everyone will wonder where we've gone. I still have something to show you."

If one thing could be said about Jeff, it was that he knew how to build the anticipation of a moment. Nick compliantly followed the shy tug of his sleeve.

If love lasted a lifetime, it would still be comparatively brief for something which was timeless, and for this brevity, the consolation given was that; nothing was ever more powerfully potent.

They moved further in, until the dark, narrow passage gave way to a rectangular room, from which two others lead. Assumption caused one to conjecture that these constituted the bedroom and an honest surviving relic of a water closet.

It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to a lesser dankness. The dwelling was positioned in such a frame that, come the birth of midday, when the sun conquered the pinnacle of her arch, the inner sanctum would receive little of its ambiance. And on days as morose as today, it was one continuous shadow.

Nick was disappointed if only with surprise, when, expecting bare walls and cold stone floors, he spied the outline of furniture, and felt the give of carpet underfoot.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see. It was the fireplace which predominated the abode and caught his sight first; over-large and protruding, it was something founded primarily for function, without even the pretence of being decorative. A smile slipped across his lips to remember how Jeff used to have a habit of becoming entranced by the inferno of Dalton's open grate, and how, even now, he would seek answers in the flames when life demanded pensive inspection.

Adorning the walls by a series of rusted and crooked nails, in a pattern of little cohesion were all manner of preserved utensils, blunt and blemished now – a peculiar means of storage, and the only, for the house which boasted no cupboards. Two rickety chairs surrounding an equally precarious table, fronted the grate; the set up exuded a sense of homeliness so that you could almost imagine the scent of warm bread being broken. Backed up against the far wall was an example of an early era sofa; and a poor one at that, which, shabby then, had suffered since, un-salvageable decline. At its feet was the remnant evidences of a rug, and across the floor was scattered a few careless possessions, which time had ravaged beyond recall.

They lived daily in luxury, and yet this austere shell spoke more vibrantly of perfection; because no-one cared about it enough to deny that it was theirs.

"Where did all these things come from?" Nick asked, gazing around with awe at the museum which idled on their doorstep just beyond the regions of widespread knowledge. Jeff shrugged, with an air of mystery.

"They was just always here."

Well, _nearly_ all of them were always here, Jeff amended in his mind. There was one item hidden here which was his own addition, and which he made his excuses now to claim.

Picking up the matches he had restored to the abode, and which listed always readily upon the fireplace, he tossed them to Nick, who caught them single handedly.

"Can you light the fire?"

"Doesn't anyone see the smoke?" Nick raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. Jeff shook his head, grinning;

"No-body ever looks this way. This place doesn't exist to anybody but us."

And that was something they both liked the sound of; it was as reserved and private as their love.

Nick bent down to tend to the fire, which was a ready structure, and in lieu of his distraction, Jeff stole into what was once the bedroom, fighting to quell the undulations of panic as the time for decisive action drew nearer.

A few more moments, that was all that was allowed for hesitation, and then his quota would be spent, and purpose would be necessary. His nerves were mounting again; a geyser building beneath the surface of the earth, because it was now up to him to make his own moment special, and the insecurity, which was called to light being even one minute removed from Nick, was coercing him to doubt his own capabilities at this pivotal period.

He had to go through with it, even if he was afraid, because all fear proponed was something wonderful, to which we foolishly made ourselves resistant by our affront to change. Yet his hands were so clammy that he doubted he could play.

Lain carefully across the cot was his guitar, already tuned, which he had brought there this morning in preparation, before Nick had even stirred. The modernity of the object contrasted so rebelliously against the tone of its surround, that it was almost laughable.

He just had to forget everything else; tell himself it was just a song – one more performance … except it wasn't. Just as love wasn't only a dream.

He drew in several deep breaths and let their calming influence soothe him, before proceeding to systematically shut down all the weaknesses of his mind, as all singers must learn to do when stepping out for their first solo rendition in front of a crowd. Slowly, but surely, he regained control, and with it came composure.

Baby steps, he reminded himself as he converged upon his guitar. His fingers knew their hold immediately, and gave him courage in his craft, as he settled the shoulder strap. He allowed them to demonstrate their confidence in the chords without playing them.

One more breath, and his time was spent. It was now or never. He steeled his will and plunged; ready to sink or swim.

Nick was still absorbed in his task when Jeff re-entered, and did not turn. For an instant, the blonde closed his eyes, just needing this one personal moment to begin. After that, continuation would be easy.

He began quietly; the sombre and provoking chords light, like a lone voice on the wind, gaining strength and conviction with every repetition. He counted them, absorbed already. Too absorbed to falter.

Nick looked up and felt his breath leave him. And then, Jeff began to sing; low, beautiful, mesmerising …

_Find me here,_

_And speak to me._

_I want to feel you._

_I need to hear you._

Nick felt himself go cold with the raw emotion and majesty of it. It was like watching a phoenix rise from the ashes and from a flame transform. He was suddenly transfixed, arrested by the vision of Jeff which stood before him, accentuated in the ambient fire light, looking more like an angel, more like a god, than any one man had the grounds to look. The tinder and matches slipping from his unfeeling hands, just as his every care in that moment slipped away.

_You are the light, _

_That's leading me, _

_To the place, _

_Where I find peace … again. _

Jeff opened his eyes. Full of hazel allure, they found Nick's immediately, and a thousand indescribable sensations passed between them. He smiled, carefree now, caught up in a moment of love and song. The fire burned their passion of flame, as he played out his soul to its mate.

_You are the strength …_

_That keeps me walking._

_You are the hope … _

_That keeps me trusting. _

Nick's heart stirred, knowing in this moment, that he was privy to something more than words could ever tell; a truth more sincere than confession could ever impart. Maybe, even, the words were given a more meaningful significance now than when they were initially written, because, to them, they were literal. They were each others saving grace. They kept each other whole in a sea of trial. They gave each other faith.

_You are the light … _

_To my soul._

_You are my purpose …_

_You're everything. _

Jeff's eyes were emphatic; pools comprising the scope of entire oceans, almost too sincere to hold; in those words, he bore more than his soul. The plummeting monument in his stomach revealed to him just how much more significant those words were even compared to twelve hours prior, when he had initially picked their song; revealed to him just how profoundly he and Nick were entwined. He looked down, watching his fingers at the fret to conceal the fact that he was blushing.

_And how can I stand here with you, and not be moved by you?_

_Will you tell me, how could it be, any better than this?_

Nick felt himself compelled into the moment that nothing could ever surpass. This was the pinnacle of loves expression, and it was all for him. He witnessed Jeff close his eyes again for a second, but this time, it was not an action wrought of nerves, but merely in absorption, he became an extension of the music; relishing it even as he performed it.

_You calm the storms,_

_And you give me rest._

_You hold me in your hands,_

_You wont let me fall. _

Given confidence now by Nick's response to his gesture, Jeff winked and offered a wry grin, even as he sang. And Nick laughed in glorious return. He was surprised, after his initial fears, how singing to Nick came so easily; just a case of opening his heart and letting it speak. His trepidation had been unnecessary, a distraction from the prospect of something great.

_You steal my heart,_

_And you take my breath away._

_Would you take me in?_

_Take me deeper now. _

Nick staggered to unsteady feet; love drunk and uncoordinated, moving towards Jeff. Wanting nothing more than to take him in his arms and hold him there forever. The tempo of Jeff's playing picked up a fraction in readiness for a repetition of the chorus; the song building to its crescendo.

_And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?_

_Would you tell me, how could it be, any better than this?_

Just as Nick reached him, Jeff exploded with the songs swell, causing the highly charged atmosphere in the room to burst and shower them in glorious legend, and Nick to laugh exuberantly filled with an overflow of ecstasy.

_'Cuz you're all I want!_

_You're all I need!_

_You're everything. Everything!_

_You're all I want!_

_You're all I need!_

_You're everything. Eevveerryytthhiinngg!_

Nick slipped his arms around Jeff's waist, and embraced him from behind, pressing his lips against that sweet neck; kissing with an ardency that he had never kissed before. Jeff's playing faded out again, as the song reached it's conclusion, and he all but whispered the last line, causing Nick to shiver.

_Would you tell me, how could it be, any better than this?_

"That was beautiful," Nick crooned, nuzzling into the blondes shoulder, "you're my everything too."

Jeff allowed his head to rest atop Nick for an instant, but his fingers kept their rhythm; he wasn't quite finished yet.

With a new will, he re-worked the melody, until it became slightly quicker, more upbeat – rays of sunshine striking the earth upon the first morning of a long awaited spring. Nick recognised their arrangement, even a little altered, and laughed delightfully.

_You're insecure,_

_Don't know what for._

_You're turning heads when you walk through the do-o-or._

He began to sway, until Nick, laughing, released him. Though he continued the movement, embellishing it with expressions adorably animated. Nick knew how much Jeff loved this song, and now, it would always be their too. It was a strange phenomenon how music and life could sometimes meld so perfectly, though both were created in ignorance.

_Don't need make-up, to cover up._

_Being the way that you are is enough._

But Nick had his own idea's forming. While he adored and coveted the gesture, he felt it needed returning, for, after all, this was Jeff's song, which someone should be singing to him …

_Everyone else in the room can see it._

_Everyone else but you._

So before Jeff could draw breath to continue, Nick took up the chorus, singing it from the heart;

_Baby, you light up my world like no-body else._

Despite his surprise, Jeff's accomplished fingers never missed a beat. Swooning and giggling so that he could hardly think straight, bowled over by the potency of his own gesture returned, he continued playing for Nick, unsure of who was really serenading who any more.

_The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed._

_But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell;_

_You don't know, oh oh,_

_You don't know you're beautiful._

And, suddenly, their uncertain serenade became a duet, as fierce as if twenty Warblers sang it, as oppose to just two. Flooded with feeling, and passion and romance as they danced in the room which had too long known silence.

_If only you saw what I could see,_

_You'd understand why I want you so desperately._

_Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe,_

_You don't know, oh oh,_

_You don't know you're beautiful, oh oh,_

A pause.

_And that's what makes you beautiful!_

They fell into each others wanting arms, laughing; and their lips in a consummate moment met.

But, instead of breaking apart their communion – as they had been doing in habitual fear of unreadiness – they now yielded, and their lips began to move together in an instinctual rhythm; the dance of love breathed into a new generation.

Dispossessed of inhibitions, their senses were flooded and paralysed; extended and contracted; descrying the whole world through the scope of a single person.

The taste of lips trading dominance – knowing exactly how to move. The touch of electric attraction flowing through their skin in astronomical volts; of hands moving wantonly and freely, grasping tress and textile alike. The scent of one another intermingled into a single glorious aroma; always with an undercurrent of pine. The sound of their own passion; their hearts beating a violent and discordant tattoo. The sight of … fireworks.

This was the most intimate and passionate that they had ever been; the most vulnerable and exposed; the most in love. And it was beautiful, though still demure, as a result of the tender feelings behind it. They became the melded souls of one identity.

The kiss deepened, and they became lost to it; an internal influence, pulling them in. They perceived the very heart of each others noble nature, laid themselves bare for scrutiny; let each other in, in a way they had never let anyone before, became more than just in love.

It was a tangible moment of forever, and truly, breathtakingly magical to boot. It was more than they had ever dreamed.

Their first kiss was special, even among its kin, and incontrovertibly, worth the wait.

It was finally broke apart with a sigh; both of pleasure and regret – and quick caresses stolen, unwilling to relent. They were breathless and blushing, as they held each other anchored to the world. Their only comprehensible thought was a form of exultation; _wow_.

The next time they traversed Dalton's hallways; in full view of its entire population, they held hands with pride, unafraid. Confirmation, when the charges were true, was often a better deterrent to prejudice than remonstrance had ever been.

And though a few heads were turned in their direction, such attention did not linger; because many had guessed as much anyway. What they had always practised, but never presumed to expect for themselves, was now given liberal demonstration. An impossibility, they had thought, under Sebastian's influence, but even that was broken now.

And just like that, Dalton bowed to their difference, and accepted them anyway, without discrimination, for exactly who they had become.

~ * … * ~

Hollow. Empty. Cold. That was how Sebastian felt. Neglected. Downtrodden. No good. He was not even worthy of the love he so desperately craved. He was a bad person, he saw that now. Angry. Bitter. Ashamed. For the first time in living memory, he was rueful towards his own spiteful and destructive actions. He regretted what he had done; what he continued to do; hurt people, push them away. Frightened. Hurt. Weak. Nick had always been right.

He didn't want to affront the world; he didn't have the strength, but he also didn't have the option to hide. Somehow, he had to put the scattered pieces back together; had to save face before a crowd of loyalists turned hostiles, who prayed upon his weakness; several of whom had witnessed his spectacular public decline already – and whom he knew he had already lost anyway. He was a tiny fish in a world-wide ocean, and he was expending his last vestiges of energy swimming against the tide.

Sebastian was tired of fighting, and what happened when fight was his only defence? The only thing which kept him from drowning in a life love had never met.

He felt truly awful as he struggled, like the broken man, towards the Warbler's unofficial choir room. He hadn't eaten all day. He couldn't stop the trembling, which had not born of cold. His vision blurred; all the worse if he endeavoured to concentrate, and his head felt like the heaviest problem in the world upon his shoulders. He had tried withdrawal once before, he knew what it felt like. And if the skin reflected the madness within, then he had to look a mess. And yet he still, he slipped through the nets of notice. He was too proud to ask for help.

Sebastian's legacy proceeded him and made a school blind to the subtleties of his character, so that, most never even observed the change; accustomed simply to giving him a wide berth. But all it would have taken was one glance, to see what Nick, Jeff and Trent, under Blaine's guidance had descried. If he enemies could do that even with compassion, why couldn't the neutral world?

Because no-one wanted to take responsibility for the troubled teen, not even, it had seemed, his own parents. And the liberty had ruined him.

The figure he cast had been reduced to less than a shadow, and the arrogance he had externally exuded, to a nervous and furtive reticent. He dragged his feet and walked bowed; if not quite humbled then restrained.

Who would Sebastian have been had the world showed him kindness? Could he, Nick, Jeff and Trent, in a different lifetime, have been friends? It was true that they were yet young, but did that mean that there was time enough left?

He forced himself to focus; forget his pitiful state and put on his game face – something which had always came naturally, something that he had never had to find before. He was not in the mind to take prisoners. He had to strike; fast and hard. Show the Warblers that defection was not an option, and that defiance was a costly misjudgement, and he knew who to make the example. Cruelty was the only way to keep them, and he needed to keep them, because without them, he had nothing. _Outside_ of them, he had nothing. And he couldn't face a life filled with even more emptiness. But he could never tell them that.

His thoughts were so wild and so un-cohesive that he did not even realize his own tardiness. An unassuming pre-emptive, perhaps, of what was about to happen. Change never graced us singularly.

He should have been alerted by the unearthly stillness of the room, present even before he entered it, of the absence of voices, but he wasn't. His head hurt too boldly for such wisdom. He should have known that something was wrong, but he was too apathetic to feel, as he worked himself into a vapid persuasion of cold ire – ready to disarm and recommit them. Blind, always blind to humanity.

As he flung aside the double doors in a manner reminiscent of his usual temperament, not even the most perceptive among them would recognise him for the broken shell he had become.

The various Warblers, each situated in their usual formation, dared not look up at him as he entered.

He happily assumed their aversion as shame; a wise response indeed. And began to entertain the notion that perhaps this would not be so difficult after all.

He cast around and focused on Nick, Jeff and Trent, discovering them in a similar state of presumed abashment. That, however, struck him as odd, and unseated his confidence before it had really even suffered inception. Those three had never been given to much restraint of opinion, or discretion; or the persuasion of wisdom which directed when to indulge silence. The peculiarity instantly put him on the defensive.

But then, a second thought came to him; maybe it was fear which mellowed them? In which case, Sebastian knew exactly how to exploit it. He knew he had gone too far; he was tortured hourly by the guilt of it, and if _they_ knew it, and knew he had every likelihood of similar extensions, then all of this could be swung in his favour, for he suspected he would find them most receptive. He didn't think anything untoward about a loyalty born of intimidation; a partnership dependant on inferiority. His view of the world was warped.

Deep down, where lies could not infiltrate, however, he knew that their aversion was born neither of fear or shame. But he comforted himself, at least, with the notion that it was, because he didn't have the strength otherwise. Lying, even to himself, was second nature by now. Their silence told him, he had their rapt attention, but he just wished that one of them would look at him.

He began with his usual biting tone of arrogant irony (wondering if only to himself it sounded insubstantial):

"So, it's recently came to my attention that there's been some unsettle amongst you surrounding a certain slushing incident. Thoughts have been raised pertaining my cruelty and _immorality_ in slushing an un-chaperoned rival _female_." Here he expected a murmur to stir at his directness, a quite assent, even, voiced by some of the bolder members, but; nothing. He continued, ruffled; "thoughts which, of course, you are all free to think. But let me raise a question to you in return. Has not all that I have ever done, been done in the Warblers best interests?" He looked around at them all; inviting and accusing, "How many of you can say the same? How many of you can say that you have made similar sacrifices for your brothers? How many of you can claim that you had the courage to do things which went against your better nature, because you knew, deep down, it was to the ultimate benefit of your fellows?" He smiled sardonically. "None of you!"

Indeed, none of them said anything. And their continued ignorance began to irk Sebastian. He wanted the satisfaction of reading the defeat of his words in their eyes. He wanted to witness their abashment herald in a new face of loyalty. He wanted to see them believe his words too; transform them from a desperate lie. But they wouldn't look at him! Why wouldn't they look at him?

Those who raised their heads did so only to stare off into a portion of space that the angle of his persona just could not infiltrate.

Sebastian felt the walls close in about him, until he almost couldn't breath. He fought back the noisome realization, holding it at bay only long enough to denounce them.

He couldn't tear his gaze away from Nick, Jeff and Trent, not for longer than a second. It was like he was transfixed, held against his will. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the clasped hands of the former, which he had to fight every second to quell the impulse not to up and wrench apart.

Why did they deserve to be happy? Whatever was happing now was a result of their doing, and he hated them. He hated each one of them, because they had taken from him the last vestige of good his sorry life possessed. They were his ruin and his damnation taken physical form.

"I find it a little rich," he continued to accuse, "that those of you who laughed and took pride in the slushing of a fellow Warbler, now quail and shy away from the same done to a stranger. Pretentiousness is an ugly trait in anyone, gentlemen, and most especially in you."

No reaction. No response. No retaliation. Sebastian only barely suppressed the overwhelming urge to smash something, to test how deep their resolution to stoicism could really go. Resistance urged him to move closer to them, to force his presence upon them.

"So, therefore, as a show of good faith, neither the Warblers, nor the New Directions will be performing MJ at Regionals. The will and commitment you have shown to this association have been abominable, and, therefore, I revoke all of your rights to solos, until such a time as you can demonstrate your worthiness for the privilege. I'm in change here. The sooner you remember that, the better. Now, take your places, we'll be practising; _Glad You __Came_, by _The Wanted_."

He expected outcry as he turned from them, and instead received nothing. He expected the expedient scramble, he had trained, and yet still, he received nothing. They were as cold and deaf as stones to his commands.

The silence began now to unnerve him; too loud to his ears. It was like standing in a room full of corpses, who existed only in the physicality. Who listened but never heard, who looked but never saw, who grew older but never aged. He felt like the only one living, and yet he had been born dead inside.

"Move!" he ordered, but his tone boasted an undercurrent of fear and desperation to it now. How could he not know what was happening? His own weapons had been trained upon him. He had always wanted their silence, and now he had it unabridged.

"Are you stupid? What are you all waiting for? Get up! _Do something_!"

But it was no good. As he had been wandering in the darkness last night, he was shouting to the silence today, and both were useless pursuits; indifferent forces to which his will was prey. This situation was wildly out of his control and he hated it.

"Theo?" he reached out, feeling upon his skin a layer of cold perspiration, looking towards the loyalty of the betrayer, and finding the house otherwise occupied.

He most flagrant supporter did not even acknowledge him, and that was when he knew he was come to the end.

"Thad?"

"Matthew?"

"Christopher?"

He tried again and again, but the result did not vary. In that moment, he lost everything. His decline had been rapid and it had been steep, and now he knew he was beaten, because he owned nothing more to give; nothing more to be taken, because he had fallen to such a depth that no further degradation could effect.

He was forced to comprehend; every action owned its own consequences, and he was long overdue for his share. Broken man already, they left him decimated.

"Nick?"

It was the last name he called out; his last hope – and he didn't hold out for much. The tone of his voice was closer to a plea than it had ever been. It asked one thing, even if he could not bring himself in so many words to say it: _help_.

And for one single second, Nick broke with the restraints of his own accord and looked Sebastian in the eye. His harsh, uncompromising gaze said: you did this to yourself.

And then, Sebastian knew he had.

Like a coward he fled, overcome, his most shameful moment. The Warblers had turned against him and left him powerless. After a lifetime of fighting he had been defeated, and by a comparatively timid action.

He burst through the doors of Dalton without stopping; determined to find oblivion; the only thing he had left, and which one couldn't even lay claim to. Why did he have to abstain? Why did he have to stop when it was never what he wanted? He didn't care any more. He was reckless, he was destructive and he was scorned. He dared danger, lusted for her even, like never before, because now, he had nothing to lose.

Consequence sunk her teeth into his sweet and tender flesh, and it seemed she dogged his footsteps wherever he went that night.

* * *

><p><em>The songs I finally chose were: Everything, by Lighthouse, and What Makes You Beautiful, specifically the Boyce Avenue cover, becuse I like the depth it commands. Incidently, there is a good Nick and Jeff video to that very song on youtube, if you haven't discovered it already: "NickJeff - What Makes You Beautiful" It's only short but it makes the seconds count :) These songs weren't my first choice either, but they were definatly my best :) And they finally got thier kiss, which I know some of you have been waiting for :)<em>

_So, what further consequences are in store for Sebastian? What happens when he has to let somebody in? And will we finally get some answers? The next chapter will sort of be his revelational one, but I'll make sure there's some Nick and Jeff affection in there too._

_I sound so corny with my "To be continued ..." speech. The next chapter, so far as I have worked it will be the penultimate._

_As always, thank you for reading._

_- One Wish Magic :)_


	6. It's Not Too Late It's Never Too Late

_Wow, has this been a hectic month, and it's not over yet! This was ready to be posted earlier, but works been heavy this week, so apologies._

_My main concern with this is Sebastian's characterisation, which was a little difficult to pin down. But after witnessing his decline in the las few chapters, as well as the trio's indecision and confusion of conscience - all that pain had to culminate into something healing. So hopefully, it's not too difficult to believe ... (crosses fingers)_

_I've moved the rating up for this chapter, just for a few swear words and what it deals with; ering on the side of caution. Nothing bad, nothing graphic._

_Inventing Sebastian's story was quite fun, so hopefully you'll find it credible, or, if not that much, at least not laughable. As always, my kindest regards to anyone who reads this story, and I hope you enjoy._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make no profit._

_The song used to name this chapter is one of my personal favorites by Three Days Grace. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

_It's Not Too Late. It's Never Too Late._

* * *

><p><em>Sebastian fled and an exult was sent up into the air. The Warblers now broke their vow of silence and converged upon one another with congratulatory sentiments, embracing as brothers once again; re-establishing that old solidarity, as if it had never left them. <em>

_For the most part, they had been tricked and played – the honest among them had welcomed a wolf in sheep's clothing, counting Sebastian as their salvation, while conversely, he had quietly furthered their damnation. And even those who had been recruited by him, found something deplorable in their master and messiah too, which had awakened a sudden humanity and spurred them, for the first time, to think for themselves. Now all of them were free – a liberty without limitations – free of his influence and degradation, free __**from**__ him._

_Their achievements marked a return back to base and better values; a love of music and a desire to perform. So, if their victory seemed harsh and their celebrations uncouth, who, really, could blame them? _

_Certainly not Nick, Jeff or Trent, who stood removed from the rejoicings and battled with regret. They had done what they had set out to achieve; won justice for a friend through none-violent means; taught instead of punished, and yet, somehow, the efficacious actions left them displeased, because they also, were found empty in the attainment. It was a victory they accepted on behalf of Kurt and Blaine, but it was not one they took for themselves. Instead they took maelstrom. _

_Would the retention of ignorance have made it different? Or had they already been too set upon the path of sympathy by Blaine's victimless morality? It was a question they could never possibly answer. _

_They were mourners looking into the cradle of life, estranged to the joys of their fellows. They sought out each of their confederates in turn and considered them; wishing they could feel the same._

_Thad had won back the reinstatement of the traditionalist values to which he so ardently cleaved. And in their freedom, the Warblers rushed back to him; the council member who had always been fair and just, and who had suffered through troubled times as an equal among them. He would soon enough recover his standing, which Sebastian had taken from him._

_Joel won an insight into what being part of the Warblers really entailed; won his chance to shine and inadvertently, captured their hearts, so that his team-mates became like brothers and taught him not to be in so great a hurry to grow up._

_Luke won home. The one place where his reserve gave way to vitality and animation; where two worlds collided to make him come alive. _

_And, as for Theo, well, no-body really comprehended what he won, maybe just the self satisfaction of the victory. _

_What had they won, other than uncertainty? _

_It took a while for the raucous sound to taper; the most discordant ever emitted from the room, and as it did, a new sensation began to take hold; of loss, of leaves blowing directionlessly in the wind – both of which found substance in the question; what happens now? It was one which had been passed around a lot recently. _

_But before time could be given to ponder it, the doors swung inward again with a cantankerous persuasion, to announce the arrival of Flint and Andrew._

_Sullen and provoked, they shouted bitterly about wild goose chases and supposed movements of meetings, until they were both red faced and Thad had some quick talking to do. _

Nick stirred from his reverie and forced his eyes to meet with the image of reality as oppose to the one of memory.

Not even art – one of his favourite subjects – it seemed, could work to enrapture his attention today, for he realized that his landscape, supposed to be reminiscent of Parsons, more accurately resembled Picasso. He was sorely tempted to give it up as a bad job.

"You were thinking about it again," Jeff whispered from Nick's side, endeavouring to stifle another yawn with little success. It wasn't a question.

Nick watched mutely for a moment as Jeff tended his own beautiful landscape into growth; marking every passing detail of his boyfriends character as it was rendered immortal in the brush strokes, in the subtle blend of hues which described him. Nick wished for a second that it was possible for them both to amerce themselves in the oils, inhabit a perfect world. But such perfection did only exist in imagination.

Finally, he nodded. There was nothing to be gained in denying it, because he knew Jeff perceived, with a practised eye, the deepest quadrant of his soul anyway. He was too tired to wrestle down truth and pretend that none of this bothered him.

Neither of them had slept well the previous night, indeed, sleep was always the first victim of a troubled mind. Not even the warmth and security of each others arms had worked to soothe their disquiet.

Trent, whose room was located conveniently closer to Sebastian's, had kept them updated hourly of his continued absence, until dawn had met with exhaustion, and they had sank into the briefest repose.

Jeff laid a hand upon Nick's shoulder, sensing the guilt he bore emanating from him in waves. Pushed forward by circumstance and forced to assume the pinnacle role in a plot his nature never really wanted to endorse, he felt that this was all his fault. As if, by some untoward means, Sebastian had been made his responsibility, and he had failed in the handling. Jeff hated to see him so troubled.

But sometimes it required the freedom of hate to stop opposed parties hating, more's the pity. So in an attempt to remove some of Nick's self-accounted responsibility and shoulder it himself, Jeff took the courage to speak aloud something they had both been thinking, but had shied away from admitting; to themselves and each other, because of what the admission might entail;

"I think we went too far."

Not because Sebastian didn't deserve it, but because they had chosen their moment of execution at a time when he was already broken. They had quite literally, kicked a man while he was down, and contrary to popular belief, there was nothing satisfying and commendable about that.

Hostility blinded compassion, and now that they had retaliated and resolved, they felt the necessity to help. Such is the redemption of humanity.

~ * … * ~

Two nights ago, he had had difficulty ascertaining what was real and what was not. This, now, however, he knew without shade of doubt was real. Because it hurt too much not to be. Pain is the one thing you can never accurately imagine.

Several hours for which memory should have served were a blur, and even now, his faculties still remained dazed. It was a feeling dissimilar to the indistinct monotony his life had passed in, however – full of isolation and mute emotion – dissimilar even to the blur of self wrought oblivion; where he controlled its coming. _This_ had knocked Sebastian clear off his feet. It was disproportionate and its consumption was absolute, so that he had had no means or hope of fighting it.

He would have chose absence, but that authorisation didn't permit it, because he was in no state to meet his scholastic activities; would have retained his cold-tile seat of five in the morning, but that his place at Dalton was already too precarious. He had been a brazen fool and now he suffered for it, and because of it. If he got kicked out, then he had no-where left to go. He had done too much wrong to believe that the didn't deserve this, but it didn't make the experience any easier to bare. Perhaps in his case, the purging of the soul had to be a physical act; because anything less severe would not warrant a change.

He did not know at what point he had began to care about things other than himself; the Warblers, his education – or at least, care enough not to want to add a third expulsion to his resume, but even that was progress when he had started from nothing.

He didn't understand much about himself any more, less even than he had presumed in the first place. The change Blaine had initiated in him continued to work, though it was no longer him moving the strings; turning the discordant instrument over to melody. No, Sebastian didn't know himself now, but he hadn't anyway.

Dutifully, he attempted class, but he never arrived there, because fate, as of yet, had another hand to play.

~ * … * ~

When second period came around and Trent found himself falling asleep over his velocity graphs, he knew he had to do something to reinvigorate himself, for, though exhaustion was not a disruptive action, more people had gotten a disciplinary for less in Mrs. Fairfax's classroom. Beady eyed, and with a particularly aquiline nose, she was as cold as logic; as severe as the unyielding science she taught. Knowledge didn't need companionship in her.

He waited for a suitable intermission and raised his hand, requesting excuse. The permission was granted only begrudgingly. The fact that anyone would desire to leave her classroom prematurely, she seemed to take as a personal insult. Trent left her to her offence, he bore more pressing concerns.

Everything that morning imbued a sense of futility; a forlorn trait of those events which mark us. However, the apathy which he experienced was not an absence of emotion, but rather a protection from. At times, we feel too strongly even to feel.

There was an ache deep inside of him – a coldness retained within the very heart of his soul, which neither quite repose or restless action could dispel, because it was a question of morality:

Had they, in taking their stand, done a just thing? Or had they succeeded in nothing more than making themselves over to the standard they had abhorred; _his_? By beating him, had they, by default _become_ him? Three separate evils as oppose to one. They had endeavoured to teach him that his actions bore consequences, something he had never learned to appreciate, wanted to prevent him from hurting anyone else – but when had they gained that right? By endeavouring to change him, were they, in fact, assuming the authority to play God? Was it ever reasonable to give a thing over to autonomous hands? Was it ever excusable to affront a dictator with his own dictatorship, turned around? Or, when stripped down, was it nothing more than the opposition of two vile natures, neither one better than the other? A change which was false even to itself.

All of that alone was enough to agitate any mind and make it restless, but his continued absence made it worse. Trent remembered well enough everything Sebastian had done – remembered the feeling; of injustice, of scorn, of hate – the brand of those actions he would wear as a scar forever. And maybe it was nothing more than a shadow across the lens, a clever trick of light, and maybe it was nothing less than an earnest alteration of nature, but it seemed that the Sebastian who had performed those damnable actions, was not the one who had stood before them yesterday. And in all matters, distinctions were important.

Sebastian was broken by the realization that love existed, any future of which his own jealousy had later dispossessed. Maybe Blaine would never have loved him, because Kurt and Blaine were made for each other; a perfect fit in which Sebastian did not factor, but Blaine's friendly affection has at least been enough to make Sebastian wilfully fool himself into the belief. Blaine, unbeknownst to him, had initiated a process which had began to make Sebastian a better person.

And Trent did feel sorry for him, because all Sebastian did was destroy. He was a denial even to his own happiness. What sort of a life was that?

They sought to make peace with him, more for the relief of their own souls than his, because forgiveness and repentance would mean that this was really over, and they wanted it to be. A week felt like a lifetime already, and at its close, none of them were left untouched, for better of for worse. Would Kurt and Blaine blame them? Or would they understand their need for relief?

Their divided guilt and loyalties were pulling them in two separate directions; lose the past and endorse the future? Or forsake the future and live in the past? Was compassion weakness, or strength? Was forgiveness divine maturity, or childish folly which should know better?

When had their lives became so complicated, so consumed with questions that they lost the rapidity to act?

He fully intended to attend his next lesson, so therefore, he limited his rousing techniques to a splash of cold water on his face; a short, sharp shock to the system, and maybe a mainline of caffeine. For even now, in a state of exhaustion, rest would not be forthcoming if he tried to take it.

Trent made for the first floor toilets, out of convenience, which, for reasons unbeknownst to him, always boasted a lower (near non-existent) populace. In fact it would have probably secured more visitors if it were a location out of bounds, as denial at least, always promoted curiosity.

He didn't expect to meet anyone, so he didn't notice that one of the stalls were engaged, as he moved toward the neat row of sinks.

For a brief second, while he ran his fingers under the stream of chilled water, he examined his visage in the mirror. The vision which stared back at him was a face which belonged to forty years in the future; drawn and sallow from the pressures of daily living. His hair, his single pride and joy, summed up his entire appearance in that of itself; limp and lifeless. He didn't like what the reflection insinuated; the keeper of more worries than he could bare.

Turning away, he cupped his hands beneath the stream, took a deep breath and allowed the water to spill over his fatigued features, gasping involuntarily at the shock he knew was coming. All listlessness was instantaneously banished, and his skin tingled with a resultant sensation.

He reached over to grab a handful of paper towels, and that was when he heard it. A wrenching, painful retching, followed by a long suffering groan, which nearly caused Trent's own stomach to expel its contents in sympathy. He felt his skin grow clammy, and before reaction could assume hold, he forced himself to take a few deep breaths in order to clear his rapidly spinning head. He was not in the least squeamish, but vomiting was the very worst kind of feeling, and in the presence of a performer; a reflex so easily incited. He could feel his heart beat wildly in his chest as he stood suspended.

Again, the sound of retching, this time proceeded by a more agonised whine, and though he did not know what precisely he detected in the tone, suddenly, somehow, Trent thought he recognised it. But surely it was impossible.

" … Sebastian?" has asked uncertainly, convinced that he was wrong. He _had_ to be wrong, but yet something morbid inside of him would not allow him to leave without knowing, one way or the other. He prayed that he was wrong, because if he wasn't, well, what then?

The confirmation was slow in coming and defensive when it did. The raw vocal chords only straining themselves further to emit a hostile bark;

"Go away!"

In the passing of an instant, these were the wild planes, and Sebastian was a wounded animal, fighting tooth and nail against a family he deemed as predators, for his right to die unmolested. Of course Sebastian's defence was a form of attack; how could it not be? Pushing people away the instant they tired to help. His command, however, though intended as severe came out weak and scared.

In all honesty, Trent wanted nothing more than to be able to go away and leave him in clear conscience, but compassion urged him to stay; urged him to do battle for the right to help. Because someone, somewhere, had to reach out, and he couldn't depend upon anyone else to do it.

This was about taking an entirely different stand; one that was harder, because it forced him to put aside his grievances, rather than allowing them to empower. He didn't relish it but he was determined to see it through.

"I can't do that," he said simply, moving towards the occupied stall with concern heavy upon his brow.

"_Please_ go away," was the pitiful return, before Sebastian gagged and retched again. This was a peculiar time indeed for him to discover manners, and their use momentarily drew Trent up short.

He waited for Sebastian to finish before he spoke again, trying to ignore the echo of the sound which was still ringing in his ears and increasingly tempting his own nausea.

"I can't, Seb," Trent repeated sadly, the name slipping off his tongue before he could prevent it. "I need to make sure you're okay."

Honestly, he expected some smart reply, but instead all he got was;

"Why?" A syllable it seemed which was gasped around a spasm of pain, and nearly had Trent, as a knee jerk reaction, banging on the stall door and demanding admission, rather than taking this slow as the situation necessitated.

He couldn't rightly say; because finding you here makes you my responsibility, and if anything happened to your stubborn ass I'd never forgive myself. So instead he answered with a more tactful truth:

"Because sometimes we all need help. Whether we're willing to admit it or not."

Though it was true that Sebastian had never extended it, Trent knew better than to reflect on the fact, because no-body to date, he was sure, had ever offered Sebastian help, and without; there could be no reciprocal manifestation.

Sebastian was silent for a moment, his breathing continually laboured, his plight never any less provocative, never any less than the epitome of human suffering. He grew weaker by the minute, Trent could sense it; pinpoint it even, in the pronounced listlessness of his speech, and the sassy Warbler began to entertain the uncomfortable notion that maybe this wasn't normal. The effects seemed too aggressive to be a simple hangover, too relentless to form a part of any natural malady. How long had Sebastian been in here?

With a coldness stealing over him came the dread of what Trent would actually find behind that door, when relent granted admission. He began to doubt his ability to handle this alone, because what if it was serious?

But his ability to act was, for the moment, stalled, because his appeal had not landed, because Sebastian; with his defences raised to outstanding proportions, still refused to believe in the genuineness of Trent's cause, still refused to believe in altruism, even while his health hung in the balance. Trent felt a stab of sympathy, because it seemed, for Sebastian it was just _that_ hard to let somebody in.

He would not give up, however. Maybe it was the show of vulnerability by the impenetrable figure of hate, or maybe it was a budding maturity which allowed him to see the man as apart from his actions, but Trent felt an earnest shift in his heart for Sebastian. It was tentative and it was small, but it was inexorably there – and suddenly, he understood forgiveness; not as a word, but as a divine state.

"I'll be fine," Sebastian slurred, shifting his position slightly from within. Still he remained resolute in pushing away the only person who had ever tried to get in.

"I'm sure you will be," Trent agreed, in the same neutral tone he deemed most appropriate for the delicacy of the situation; no inflection to incite him, no undertone to affront him.

Maybe it was both too early and too late for hope, but he tried anyway. Because he had too.

"I just want to help you. Do you think, maybe you could unlock the door?"

Sebastian's answer then came instantly;

"No." But it's deliverance was more attuned to a whine than a denial, and Trent did not know whether it meant he would not, by will, or worse, that he _could_ not.

"Well then," said Trent heavily, taking an uncomfortable seat on the cold tiles and resting his back against the division wall of the two stalls, "I guess I'll just have to wait for you to change your mind."

Sebastian didn't say anything to that, and Trent prepared himself for a long haul that they didn't strictly have the time to indulge. It seemed that the only way to win Sebastian's cooperation was to beat him at his own game, a game better reserved for any time but now, but what other option did he have? No-one could force Sebastian to do anything he didn't want to do, not even for his own salvation.

Trent worked from the assumption that, no-body, if they had ever stuck out the silence at all, would have done so for long. And he hoped; for Sebastian's own sake, that he would fold quickly. He felt the desperation of a man trying to talk down a jumper from the ledge.

It was two inches of fibre board which separated them, but it might as well have been the breadth of the entire world, because the boy on the other side had never seemed more receptive and yet more unreachable. This moment was one which felt outside their lives, an alternate reality lived through a powerful protagonists eyes.

How had an unreasonable situation culminated into this? Two offenders of animosity putting aside their discord for a humanitarian compassion. It was an equally unreasonable end – if end it was at all – and maybe, somehow, that made it fitting. It is true that sometimes we can re-identify with an enemy as a friend, because most hate is the result of misunderstanding, and in certain circumstances we are forced to put everything else aside and act on instinct, which knows no prejudice.

As Trent sat there, he learned about Sebastian, although the boy never physically offered anything up. It was as if truth went before them and crossed the divide, finding absorption without the need of wordy admission. Because, Sebastian, like everyone else was an open book, so long as you knew how to read him.

He learned that Sebastian had no faith, in anything. That he was a stranger to hope; an infertile wasteland to the seed of belief. He learned that deep down he was sorry, and it was that novel repentance which had initially broken his armours sheaf. He learned that Sebastian was lonely, but maybe he had known that already, that he had no-one in this wide, over-run world. Learned that he had been hurt first, and it was that hurt which had made him what he was. Learned that it was fear, not hostility, which compelled him to shut people out; the fear of giving someone the power to destroy him. But most prominently of all, Trent learned that Sebastian was no more than a boy – a figure, even, less than himself, for though Sebastian had been forced to grow up quickly, his composition was flawed, in want of several vital aspects – a boy who just didn't understand the hand that fate has cast for him.

After two more wrenching episodes, Sebastian grew quiet, and worse than that, he grew still; something Trent took as a worrying sign. It demanded all of his restraint not to apply for a second admission, but this was Sebastian's struggle to trust, and he knew _he_ had to break the silence first. But was that factoring in unconsciousness? It was never better to force someone, but maybe sometimes it was necessary. He still held onto hope.

The bells for morning break and third period were the only sounds which broke their determined silence. And no-one came to disturb them. How alone one could seem in a school full of people! How isolated in their plight, when it was found in the midst of thriving life.

Trent wondered if Nick and Jeff had noted his absence, and almost as quickly decided that they would have. He wondered what they had assumed; certainly not this. Never this.

When the silence became too oppressive, too engorged with terrible notions, Trent began to hum, softly at first, but quickly gaining voice – a restless habit. It began as melodious nonsense, a spin on some of the less animated vocal exercises, adorned with an essence of harmony, and culminated eventually into a solo rendition of _Stand_ by _Lenny Kravitz_. It had been a song heard in passing, which came back to him now.

He sensed the exact moment when Sebastian started to listen; felt in his soul the gravitational shift the music wrought, like an opening of opportunities window which he had carefully been seeking. Music spoke to each of them, it seemed, in a way nothing else could.

Trent's persistence finally paid off.

"Why are you trying to help me?" Sebastian rasped, sounding weak and defeated; nothing like himself. "All I've ever done is make your life miserable."

The truth of these words had been a long time in coming, and with no exact measurement of duration. But, somehow, they both knew it has been too long.

"Honestly?" Trent asked torn between relief and doubt, "I'd like to say it's because I'm a good person, but I don't really believe that any more. Look, Seb, I'm not going to preach to you because I'd just be wasting my breath on something you don't want to hear. We all make mistakes and bad choices, but the fact that you do so willingly and consistently, astounds me. We've all hurt someone we never meant to, whether through our speech or actions, and yet, you always seem to have the intention. We've all experienced that moment where we are forced to take a good, hard look at ourselves, and decide whether we really like the person that we see, and yet somehow I get the impression that that's your daily reality. I guess what I'm trying to say is; I want to help you as an absolution to the mistakes I've made against you, and hopefully, by doing so, I can help you find peace. I'm not going to tell you that you have to change, because I think you know that for yourself already. But what I will tell you, is that, if you really _want _to, then I'll help you.

"You've been a real jerk, Sebastian, and yeah, you've made mine and Nick's life hell – not to mention Kurt and Blaine's – and you tried to impound Jeff in the web of something he never deserved to be part of, and worse than that still, you outed them, in front of everyone. You took away their one right to decide, when I would think the difficulty of coming out was something with which you could empathise." Even when speaking of these highly charged events, his voice retained the same reserved, neutral tone; he was, at that moment, the true master of himself. "But you've also been hurt – I can see it in everything you do – worse than you yourself have ever hurt anyone. And while that doesn't even begin to excuse what you've done, it begins to help me understand _why_ you did it. It allows me to begin to forgive, even if I won't forget. You've done a lot of bad, Sebastian, even in this school alone, but you still have the chance to take it back.

"If I had the strength, I would wish that I could stay angry with you forever. I would wish that you went out of my life and never came back. But the truth is, I'm tired, Seb, I'm tired of fighting, tired of always looking over my shoulder and expecting some sort of attack. I just want this to be over, and if that takes the cost of me swallowing my pride and a very bitter pill of forgiveness, then I'll humble myself and do it.

"I don't care if no-bodies ever helped you before; _I'm_ prepared to help you now. And I'd advise you to take the offer, because it's the only one you're going to get."

Trent sat back and folded his arms, waiting to see how his words would effect. They had existed, fully formed in his mind, though they were never supposed to have been given impart. But in a day of truths, maybe one more wouldn't hurt.

There was a chocking sound from within, and then came Sebastian's wasted voice;

"You _are_ a good person."

Then, there was the groan of strenuous movement by a weakened body, and the lock scraped aside. But before Trent could enter, there was the motion of desperate scuffling, and then Sebastian was throwing up again.

With a will, Trent steeled himself and pushed aside the door. The acrid scent was more concentrated inside the stall, and for a moment, he had to train himself in the art of selective ignorance. The sight which met his eyes, however, only made him stronger, and did so _because_ of its heartbreaking nature.

Stretched across the length of the floor was the afflicted, loosing everything he had ever eaten into an off-white bowl, which he hugged like his point of salvation.

Instinct commandeered Trent as its vessel from that moment on. He placed a comforting hand on Sebastian's back as he struggled to breath. It didn't matter what he had done, all that mattered right now was that he needed to know he wasn't alone.

When he was finished, Sebastian wiped his mouth with the back of a shaking hand and looked up at Trent with real, emotion-feeling eyes, nothing like the ones Trent was accustomed to as his features. They transformed his entire face. With few words, he admitted what he had always been too afraid to say; that he needed help.

"I can't stop," he rasped. This was him, finally letting someone in.

Trent took in his horrific appearance; the ashen skin, the dark circles surrounding sunken eyes, the dilated pupils. The tremors which shook through his body like a fit. The absence of perspiration even though he was burning alive in his skin. The lethargy. The brief lapses in consciousness which he even now observed. The scratches on the back of Sebastian's hands, which Trent keenly noted as he raised one to press against his temple as if indicating dizziness. The sluggish pulse he felt beneath his fingers as he had taken Sebastian's wrist for a closer examination. And, of course, the unrelenting vomiting.

No, this was about as far from normal as they could get.

"How long?" he asked, seriously considering the pros and cons of going to fetch someone, at this point.

Tremors were now beginning to overtake Sebastian, marking his words near unintelligible.

"Since e-early this m-m-morning." And then he swallowed hard, attempting to regain control over his voice. "I t-think I've been spiked."

"What?!"

Trent, who had never known the lowest point of man, just could not comprehend what was being relayed to him by the boy who found a holiday home in the pit of sin.

"I think someone put s-something in my drink … last night .. at Scandal's." Though his stalling deliverance suggested he doubted even the conviction of this truth.

"Scandals?" Trent ventured with trepidation, knowing he really didn't want to know.

Sebastian seemed to regret the necessity of admission.

"The bar off Primrose Boulevard. Have you never wondered where I go every night?" A ghost of his old smile died upon his lips almost as instantly as it had found substance, and his face contorted with pain. "I guess I made one too many enemies."

He hovered back over the toilet bowl, swallowing hard, but it appeared, for the moment at least, his body had reached the limits of its endurance, because nothing further came up. He wrapped his arms around his stomach protectively, the part of him which had suffered the greatest abuse.

Meanwhile, Trent tried to digest all that had been imparted, and without precedent or practice, act accordingly, when any wrong move could be massively detrimental. Was this what life drove Sebastian to? Drink, drugs, and dangerous situations? Or, maybe … was this what _they_ had drove him too?

Surely it couldn't be? Sebastian was damaged long before they had met him. They couldn't be responsible for this.

Guilt gave way to the gravity of the situation; Sebastian had been spiked, and Trent didn't know what he was supposed to do, when doing anything and doing nothing both posed a potential danger to his already precarious state. This was way above his head, and beyond his ability to handle. He needed to go and get somebody, and yet he feared to leave Sebastian alone for a minute.

And then, in the midst of turmoil, he remembered … the scratches; standing out like a brand of lurid red against colourless skin. Angry. Violent. Cruel. And suddenly, a horrific thought made Trent's blood run cold in his veins. What if this was so much more than bad luck? He recoiled from the thought, but he needed to know. He needed to confront the seediest form of life.

"Sebastian," he said, with a calmness he didn't feel, "I need you to look at me." Because he needed to see the reaction in those wild and transformed eyes. Needed to observe the shadow for himself, if indeed, it fell across his face. "Did somebody hurt you?"

For the first time since knowing him, he doubted Sebastian's capability to take care of himself.

The pitiful figure frowned, and could not suitably answer; because, to his view, hadn't the whole world hurt him? Then, quite suddenly, a stiff shiver ran through him, his eyes rolled back into his head and he went completely limp as he passed out cold.

Trent barely managed to catch him before his head made a painful acquittance with the off-white ceramic. It was like watching a puppet have its strings cut and crumple in a heap. It was disturbing and it was frightening.

His heart hammering and his breath scarce, he laid Sebastian prone on the cold floor. And then, with desperation seizing him, he called his name; whispers transforming into shouts, as he tried to shake him back into awareness.

After what seemed like forever, but reliably was no more than seconds, Sebastian's eyes fluttered open again. He groaned, as if the renewal of sight sent lances of pain through his head. Resilient and reckless as ever, he tried to sit up, but Trent determinedly held him down, even if his hands were shaking. He had reached the limits of his endurance, and they couldn't afford to waste any more time.

"Lie still," he ordered, neutrality banished. "I'm going to get you some help."

But if he thought handling Sebastian was going to be that easy …

"No!" Sebastian's hand shot out of no-where, and with surprising strength prevented Trent from rising. It was as if the extent of his stubbornness was instilled in that one single gesture, and that was more than a mountain to overcome. But after his initial ejaculation, his voice was found disquietly, and starkly weak as he continued imploringly;

"Can't tell anyone. I'll be expelled."

He released Trent's wrist and curled into a foetal position on the floor, as if the movement had cost too much of what little he had left.

The sassy Warbler couldn't really argue with that. He would have liked to; until he was blue in the face and hoarse from shouting. But he couldn't. They both understood the nature of Sebastian's doubtful position at the school, but that didn't mean that he liked what he was being coerced into … again. He didn't want the responsibility of this placed upon his shoulders, but then, did he really have a choice? He surpassed panic and found himself firmly in the territory of desperation.

"Just need to sleep it off ..." Sebastian continued to murmur listlessly, "be fine in a couple of hours."

"Yeah? And how could you _possibly_ know that?!"

Trent didn't realize that he was shouting until Sebastian raised a hand to his head and groaned, but this situation was becoming impossible. How was he supposed to help if Sebastian wouldn't let him? The answer, however, was not one he expected.

"Because this has happened before."

Trent didn't know what he was supposed to say to that. What anyone could say to such a casual, blasé admission? Not many things about Sebastian shocked him any more, but the flippant attitude and blatant disregard he betrayed towards his own self worth and preservation, in that moment, did. No-one, not even Sebastian, deserved to feel like they didn't matter.

"Well, you're not sleeping it off in here," said Trent making a rapid decision, his tone one step shy of hysteria, coming out like an admonishment, "the least I can do is get you back to your dorm; come on."

And with a reserve of strength he did not know he possessed, Trent managed to haul Sebastian to his feet and support him. For, though the height difference was considerable, Sebastian commanded no density, so that, with some clever footwork, and nimble movements, Trent was able to manoeuvre him.

He threw one of Sebastian's arms around his shoulder, and wrapped his other firmly around the almost emaciated waist, trying to ignore the fragility of this, should be insurmountable figure, with which he was now noisomely confronted.

Sebastian, for once in his life, offered no resistance, and merely allowed himself to be manhandled, possessing no workable control over his own motor functions. The only thing which he could hold onto was a voice; Trent's – speaking in an attitude he remembered well.

"You're angry," he said, strangely, almost happy to meet with the familiarity.

Trent sighed, and made a conscious effort to check his fluctuating emotions. In a softer tone, he made the distinction;

"I'm angry because I care."

Sebastian would he preferred unspecified anger, because at least that he understood. Trent didn't care. No-one ever had.

Their progress was slow and hampered. Even the simple process of putting one foot in front of the other was found a difficulty for the befuddled mind. A fog, denser, so it seemed, than rock filled Sebastian's every sense and would not clear

They passed by classrooms with thundering hearts, imploring good fortune to hold out. Third period ended in ten minutes, and they had to make haste. He had to protect Sebastian from the atrocities of himself. And that was something he would never have counted a lifetime upon saying.

The exertion cost Sebastian every labour to breath, but he managed a single, fragmented sentence:

"I'm sorry … you know."

"For what?" Trent attempted to clarify, his attention divided. There was a lot for which Sebastian could indulge apology; his actions of the last week notwithstanding.

"Everything," he slurred, his head listing for a moment. "I. Was. Wrong."

It seemed Trent had waited a lifetime to hear those words spoken. A closure so dream-like and perfect that he was not sure he trusted the reality now that it was fulfilled. Somehow, he believed the person who spoke them, but he did not believe the words themselves, at least, not enough for the two to marry. He could have said anything; one great, if brief, speech in turn return for another, but instead, in the face of soberness, he turned to humour, as he always did, because such a speech of conscience from a boy they were convinced didn't have one, was too much to deal with right now.

"You really have been spiked."

He didn't know how he managed it, but it only mattered that he had. Somehow, he had conveyed Sebastian to the warm embrace of his duvet without detection.

His next step then, was to make a phone call; one of the most frantic in his life, because though he would keep Sebastian's secret, he would not go through this alone. Sebastian was not the only one who needed help.

~ * … * ~

Nick and Jeff raced down the beautiful corridors at noons swell in a whirlwind of emotion, putting aside all of their grievances to answer the call of a friend. Their hands were grasped tightly against the pull of separation, as Jeff, the faster of the two, urged Nick forward through the crowd.

Running in the hallways was prohibited, and their disregard to decorum succeeded in causing a stir, but then, everything about themselves was inclined to do that lately anyway.

Calls were offered which went unheeded, and after a moment or two, curiosity was detracted. They were best friends turned lovers, peculiarities were expected.

It was a good thing, however, that none of their peers chanced to espy their faces, otherwise the curiosity of expression and cause would have been harder to shake; guilt, torment, irresolution rested there. They were impressionable countenances for all the wrong reasons.

As Nick and Jeff left the throngs of moving students behind, they slowed their pace, thought precedent would have expected them to quicken it. They were weighed down by the uncertainty of what they were about to do.

It was the same uncertainly which had initially characterised Trent's compassionate decision; whether to take responsibility for the plight of another's life, or turn a blind eye and comfort oneself with the notion that the sufferings of our fellow man didn't concern us, for it was not _our_ suffering. It was a choice less moral than it seemed, because one did not need to be a paragon to elect the divine option.

They never thought they would be running to Sebastian's aid. They never thought they could come to view him as a living, feeling, real person either, but recent events had changed that, maybe for the better, maybe for the worse; _susceptibility_ had changed that. And though the slightly indignant part of Nick told him that he was doing this for Trent and Trent alone, deep down, he knew; he was doing this for Sebastian too.

Except, he and Jeff both, did not know how they felt about the action, and feeling was paramount, given its ruling and dictating qualities. Would they even be able to do it? Up until recently, simply being in a room with him was intolerable, and after their stunt, they felt it would be worse, though for different reasons. And what's more … would Sebastian even let them help him? They were about to see him in his weakest state; a time when his defences incontrovertibly, would be at their highest.

They were not expecting compliance. Sebastian may had burnt his bridges, but what they had done would seem, at least to him, an inferno in his own home. The more they tried to deny it to themselves, the more they understood him (forming yet another avenue of unspecified feeling.)

Jeff's father was a doctor. It was something the blonde would say with pride whenever he talked of his family, because every boys father was a superhero, Jeff's just did it for a living. And he had himself, shown a keen interest in the science, if not the devotion necessary to pursue it, so that the pair had spent long summers in study, role-play and demonstration. Nick remembered Jeff saying that it was the only thing they ever really bonded over, and so they clung to it. And it brought the brunette immeasurable joy to envision them, in the red hue of dusk, saving lives which one day might be for real.

Of course, those summers of bonding now put Jeff in the best position out of any of them, to help Sebastian. But Nick, protective to a fault, didn't want him to have to go through the upset. Didn't want the scar, which undoubtedly the event would leave, to wound Jeff's beautiful soul. But what choice did he have, other than to simply be there to help his boyfriend through it? Because in this instance, protecting Jeff was tantamount to selfishness, and inadvertently denied Sebastian aid.

Trent was waiting for them at the door, which he closed quietly behind him at their approach; seizing this one necessary moment to be discomposed before he had to find the strength of courage again.

"I'm sorry, it's just, I didn't know what else to do." He babbled almost incoherently, jumping from one train of thought to the next with such alarming rapidity that it was all Nick and Jeff could do to understand him. "I don't know what I'm _supposed_ to do! I tried to get him to drink something, but he wouldn't. He just keeps drifting in and out of consciousness, and I'm scared to let him fall asleep. He was so sick, I couldn't just leave him, but I don't know how to help! He just keeps insisting that he'll get expelled if anyone finds out."

And, had Trent been in a less severe state of distress, he would have perhaps observed that his aversion to solemnity had been curbed.

It was disquieting to see one, usually so jovial now so affected. And in that moment, Nick and Jeff realized, by comparison, just what Trent did in offering a witty view even in the worst of times. He offered a reminder that these things would pass.

Where was the rally for hope now? Why did it's loss leave them feeling so out of touch? Seriousness was not the reward it promised.

Nick took the distressed teen by the shoulders, and forced him to sit down; the need of a friend somehow making him feel stronger, as if necessity channelled through him as a medium. He was born to find a way.

"Breath," he told Trent calmly, "we're in this together, remember?"

How those words, spoken what seemed like a lifetime ago initially, and for a different purpose, had succeeded in becoming like a beacon of hope carried through this entire affair, and used to appeal to the courage of them all. Whatever happened, they would face it together, that's what they had promised. And their sassy Warbler calmed to the reiteration of that conviction, working to regain his composure.

Brushing a quick caress upon Nick's cheek for the simplicity of knowing exactly what to say, Jeff kneeled down before Trent and said in a soft but significant tone:

"No-one's ever going reproach you for offering kindness, and least of all us." For Trent's wild words had also alluded to apology, for arguably the most selfless and magnanimous thing he had ever done, because he maybe thought that they would blame him. "We're going to prove to Sebastian that there's some good left in people yet to believe in. We just need to know what's happened."

Trent, true to his resilient nature, recovered in spectacular fashion and was collected again as they pulled him to his feet. He relayed all that had happened that morning; finding Sebastian, fighting for his trust, learning the secrets of his nightly pass-times haunt, and discovering he believed he had been spiked. And though they listened composedly, trepidation was reflected from all sides.

This was three boys dealing with the problems of wayward youth, while having to assume the maturity of men. This was three friends proving their worth and sacrifice in coming to the aid of their former tyrant. This was humanity at it's finest.

Nick watched as Jeff expression became first dark, and brooding, and then resolved into determination. He was bowled over by the sudden competency he witnessed there, which would have reassured him more than any diploma ever would.

"There are … scratches on the back of his hands," Trent admitted with an uncomfortably sickening sensation, which made all of this seem far to real, and defiant to belief. "Kind of like he got into a struggle. I asked him if someone had hurt him … but he didn't seem able to answer."

The air they breathed suddenly seemed like a gaseous ice, which grazed everything it touched. They each feared the allusions reticence suggested.

Was it possible that _Sebastian_ could have been taken advantage of? Usually, no. But in his broken and vulnerable state … the answer was all too noisome; yes.

A moan from within brought them back to the more pressing of their numerous concerns; the present. And they re-entered the room with their hearts in their mouths.

Seeing Sebastian as the saw him then was tantamount to desecration – was like witnessing the Colosseum of today's reality; no more than a ruin, become a spectacle of premonition to the eyes of ancient Rome. The majestic, the powerful, the insurmountable – fallen.

It evoked in them a profound solemnity; a sense of loss and incrimination. For what, in one moment was grand and beautiful, was in the next destroyed by the same breed of builders hands. It was unsettling, unnatural and it infected them with distress; a wrong they felt deep inside themselves, which chilled them to the core – and yet too delicate and rare for define.

The air in that room was a desolate atmosphere; bitter, scornful, wronged, desperate, hopeless. It chocked and it smothered, until life seemed no more than a candle light, quavering, before it was snuffed out. Lesser men would have turned away, protected themselves from confronting the ugly face of suffering, lest it vicariously command purchase in the own lives. Instead, _they_ moved further in, affected certainly, but resolved.

Sebastian's eyes, then, saw too little of reality and too much of a dream, as if they would pierce the veil between worlds and descry the other side. They fixed on different points each time, and he would murmur fervently; the sounds largely too slurred and run together to comprehend. But one phrase, copiously repeated, soon become intelligible; 'what do you want from me?' In a state of stupor brought on by exhaustion, to which delusions more easily clung, Sebastian, it seemed, confronted his demons. A loss of control in the mind meant that there was no sanctuary left for him to run.

A loss of control in the body meant that, the boy who had always been so fiercely self-sufficient, now had to resign himself to the reality of temporary dependency. His awkwardly slumped position suggested, for purposes unknown, that he had attempted to rise, but either through weakness or a difficulty of movement, he had found himself unable.

For a moment, they lost him to the character of his affliction, which threw up a barrier between them. This situation was something way beyond their experience and jurisdiction to handle. It seemed somewhat perverse that inequity should fester quietly within the walls of Dalton; the aftershock of two worlds collide.

And then, they blinked, and he was just a boy again, both grown and reduced to their eyes; having made too many mistakes and needing their help to change. But more than that, for the first time, they really stopped seeing him as the enemy; he was just a person. Just one person. After that, they did not doubt the righteousness of their decision.

"I don't understand," said Trent, taking in Sebastian's preoccupation with quiet horror and distress, "he was fine ten minutes ago. Well, I mean, he was _talking_ to me …"

Sebastian was as far from 'fine' as a person could vacation, but he had been, at least, aware of his surroundings, which was more than Trent could say now. Could his condition really deteriorate so quickly?

But there was one voice there whose mission was made to instil calm in them;

"People can slip in and out of lucidity," Jeff told him in a tone Nick had never heard the blonde use before; proficient, masterful even. While they fretted and worried over the more noisome aspects of this situation, Jeff came into his own and showed his steel by being unafraid.

"Hallucinations aren't uncommon either, nor disorientation, or difficulty moving. It's a broad catalogue, depending on what he's been given, but as long as we keep an eye on him, the symptoms shouldn't be too dangerous, and should wear off in twelve hours, a lot of the time, less."

If all of this hadn't seemed to him so dire, Trent would have grinned at the seeming ease with which deferential Jeff assumed control of the situation.

For Nick, it was a moment of awe and pride, because the world got a chance to see the wonderful, remarkable boy he always knew, and was his. The very best of Jeff came out in a crisis, where better characters failed.

At the sound of their voices, Sebastian stilled, as if fractionally recalled to reality, listening with his head turned to the side.

Stallingly Trent moved forwards and with gentle actions, coaxed Sebastian into a prone position again; on his side in case the nausea he had witnessed made a resurgence, and in aiming distance of a strategically placed bucket. Noticing that he was shivering, even despite his duvet, he placed another blanket on top, wondering suddenly at the timid protectiveness he felt for the boy he thought he knew, but had gotten all wrong. Often need makes us worthy of praise, when we would doubt ourselves. And then, he stepped away, knowing there was nothing more that he could do.

Taking a deep breath, Nick prepared to release Jeff's hand so that he could perform his ministrations, at a time when he would have much rather taken Jeff in his arms and whisked him far away to a place without pain.

But as soon as Jeff felt the contact recede, he clung to it with such a tenacious determination as told Nick without the necessity of words; I need you. Because even the best of us needed support.

Nick reaffirmed his grip. He would be there. He would be the solace of comfort, from which both parties could draw strength. He would even apportion a share to Sebastian himself, because Jeff, by his sympathy, was teaching him to forgive.

So as the blonde moved forwards, Nick followed a little behind, just out of sight of the patients ire, endeavouring not to incite him, and turn him against their help. Nick and Jeff were tethered and bound by feeling, and it showed most prominently now, in the depression of life.

Jeff knelt close to Sebastian's head, but even in such proximity the glassy eyes didn't see him. They still looked right through reality, even when the mind had responded. Jeff, however, was not dissuaded. He couldn't afford to be.

"Sebastian," he called softly, coaxingly, compellingly. It was a tone Nick would have done anything for, an appeal which natural instinct itself called any man to answer. It was the north star leading the way home.

"Can you look at me?"

He tried. Tried with all his strength and will, but he just couldn't. All he could see was darkness, and the faces of those who had never been there, which blotted out the faces of those now reaching out. He was confused. He was so scared.

With grim determination, Jeff wound Nick's hand into the material of his blazer, imploring its continued anchor. With his free hand, Nick traced reassuring circles across the blondes back. He wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm here," Nick whispered, "I'm right beside you."

Then, Jeff reached out, and took Sebastian's face in his hands, turning it towards his own, forcing the eyes to perceive him. When Sebastian tried to pull away, Jeff resisted, eliciting a moan. He repeated his coaxing, only this time, with a little more authority, though loosing nothing of its softness.

"Sebastian, I _need_ you to look at me."

For the briefest spell, his eyes fixated, and his wasted voice rasped a single word;

"Jeff?"

And then they were gone again, but this time, he himself fought for their return. The blonde smiled encouragingly at his small triumph, and delicately smoothed Sebastian's limp hair back off his forehead, in a gesture the other boy initially resisted.

"It's me."

And because it was necessary to ascertain precisely what they were dealing with, Jeff commenced questioning, needing to know what Sebastian remembered – and by the indication, how severely he was affected.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Home," Sebastian breathed quietly, as if talking was, for the moment, too great an effort.

"You're at Dalton," Jeff clarified softly, and without open contradiction, trying to revoke his confusion calmly. "You're in your dorm."

"_Home_," Sebastian insisted. And after a moment or two, Jeff thought he understood.

He smiled a little ironically, because it had taken desertion and criminality for Sebastian to find it, and now, they were going to help him hold onto it.

"Yeah, home. Home and safe."

Gently he took Sebastian's wrist and calculated his pulse. It was slow, but not dangerously so, and not more than would than would be expected. But they needed to get liquids in him soon, and ensure that they remained in him.

Nick and Trent watched this exchange with anxiety and yet with composure. Something of Jeff's manner worked upon them too, and turned them over to the influence of calmness, when they could not otherwise find its mark within themselves. His speech was quiet, reassuring and effected; it commanded the entire atmosphere – neutralizing it as an alkaline neutralizes and acid; turning water from vinegar.

And Sebastian responded to it; to the compassion; the sympathy; the redemption it promised; responded to Jeff and the restraint of his pity. To the blonde he opened up, _he_ reached out, because Jeff was purity and goodness and hope; everything he had lost and wanted back, and because he was sorry.

And so, when Sebastian moved to grasp Jeff's wrist like a vice, Jeff put aside his own discomfort and doubt, and simply allowed Sebastian the hold; the demonstration of need he gave now only in his weakened state.

"Do you know what happened to you?" Jeff continued, in a soothing tone, now that the line of questioning became more upsetting.

"Got spiked."

Sebastian emitted a sound which was half way between a bark of sardonic laughter and the guttural noise of retching.

Unperturbed, Jeff lifted the bucket and held it beneath Sebastian's chin, just in case. Meanwhile, Trent prayed that earlier's performance not be relived in highlights for his own stomach was still feeling a little delicate afterwards. And Nick marvelled at how easily and naturally looking after someone came to Jeff, and for a moment, he was sure that his boyfriend had missed his calling.

When, after a few minutes of indecision, Sebastian pushed the bucket away with disdain, they were forced to conclude that it was the former.

"Got what I deserved," he clarified harshly, and with a self hateful tone.

"Don't say that ..." Jeff begged with shock.

No-body deserved this, and yet it happened; out of vengeance; out of accident, it didn't matter. No-one deserved to have their control taken away, not even Sebastian for purloining theirs first.

"Why not? It's true." Sebastian's self berating gave an unlikely strength to his speech, even if it also gave bitterness.

How did Jeff do it? How did he forget? How did he see past the malignancy which poisoned Nick against securing his own release? He didn't want to forgive Sebastian, and yet his heart urged him to, until will and responsibility almost cleaved him in two with their divide. He didn't want to fold, and yet pride – an alien concept to his selfless nature – was the only thing which made him resist, made him somewhat masochistic. Jeff had never needed an apology, but this time, Nick thought he might.

"Do you know how it happened?" Jeff asked resolutely, determined not to indulge Sebastian's self hate, and give it credibility.

Sebastian's answer was immediate, and he was never more lucid than in this moment when he blamed himself for everything.

"He must have put something in my drink when I knocked into him …"

And in abrupt agitation, Sebastian sat bolt upright; exacerbating his precarious condition and bringing on a bout of dizziness which almost handed him over to unconsciousness. Jeff's certain hands caught him instantly, and lowered him gently back down, though his expression was uncompromising.

"Easy," he cautioned, "take it slow."

The changeability of such a state was infamous and unpredictable, and the emotions of the sufferer were similarly ungovernable. But in attending to his patient, Jeff had overlooked one important detail which Sebastian had let slip. Luckily, however, Trent hadn't.

"You said 'he,' Seb … You know who did this?"

The sassy Warbler felt cold and sick at the revelation that this wasn't random. And it raised the question; what type of person did you have to be to do something so malignant? It was one, not so long ago, that they had asked concerning Sebastian himself even. Life would forever be irony's stage.

Nick frowned; troubled. It seemed Sebastian had found his own in the bar last night; another troubled and tortured soul. And what happened when two consumptions kissed? Destruction, decimation, death. Something told Nick that Sebastian had got off lightly, because as bad as this seemed, dangerous unions could yield worse than this. And for one insensible moment, he felt relief.

Sebastian's eyes were suddenly all pain, and he tried to turn away from them, tried to blot out the presence of those who would force him to recall what he didn't want to remember. But again, Jeff's hands held him firm, soothing even as they restrained; he was the anchor which both safeguarded and suspended – in that time, both a blessing and a curse. Sebastian was yet too weak to contest him; his muscles yet to malleable to perform the action without aid. He was helpless and he didn't want to remember. It hurt too much to remember.

"We're just trying to help you," Jeff appealed to him earnestly, "but you have to _talk_ to us."

"Can't tell anyone. Get expelled." Sebastian moaned, closing his eyes against a new onslaught of tremors, which threatened to engulf him. He would have welcomed the relief of darkness, but Jeff called him back, and the blondes plea had worked its way into his soul, marking it such that he couldn't ignore.

"Then we won't tell anyone," Jeff urged, taking Sebastian's face in his hands again, so that he had some solid source of contact to focus on, some hold to reality; a world full of pain, and for the first time, full of sympathy,

"but you have to tell _us_."

" … I know who did this." Sebastian finally confirmed heavily, regretfully, painfully. "Not his name; never the name. Approached me at the bar … the other night. I was … cruel. Was there again. Last night. I didn't think. Not until … afterwards when … when things got hazy."

And then came the necessary moment, and this time, Sebastian would have to answer.

"Did he hurt you, Sebastian?" Jeff asked carefully, feeling his hold on Sebastian become almost protective. The boy who had never needed anyone.

"No … not in the way you're thinking …"

They were losing him. His words slurred together into an almost continuous sound, and his eye roamed of their own free will. It was a effort for him to think straight, and they knew at any moment, he was going to pass out. Overpowered by exhaustion and toxin.

" …. F-felt sick. Went out into the alleyway. 'Was waiting there. Pushed … pushed me up against the wall. I struggled, was, confused. Scraped my hands, my back. Told me what a lowlife I was. Must … must'a took his cue from you …" An attempt at morbid laughter came out as a wheeze. "Not malicious, just angry. Cant. Tell. Anyone. Please. Not his fault. Get expelled."

And for one more moment, while they still had him, Trent ventured to ask what had been troubling him all along:

"How did you get home?"

"Walked." The stuttering tone implied stupidity.

Then Sebastian's eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out cold.

Calmly, Jeff manoeuvred the boy back onto his side, and held him there until such a time as he should regain consciousness. Meantime, he buried his head in Nick's chest seeking comfort and feeling suddenly exhausted.

Nick responded gladly. He kissed the pale cheek lovingly, and ran his fingers through the platinum hair, knowing how Jeff found the gesture relaxing. He whispered reassuringly;

"You're doing brilliant, honey."

If you didn't know him well enough to see it, you could be excused for believing that Jeff wasn't fazed. He was stoic and yet he was open, he was competent and yet he was unschooled, he was mature in his employment and yet in his repose, a teenager; insecure.

"I just hope it's enough."

Sebastian should have gone to the hospital, or at least, to the police. _Somebody_ should have been there to take him. But the only semblance of family he had ever had, had that same night estranged him. This was their glimpse into an uncertain future, their warning against what could have happened, and their call to embrace the conviction of better men. The world had turned it's back on Sebastian, and in truth, so had they – at a time when he needed them most – and for that, they had to take responsibility now.

Guilt assailed them, for although they could have never predicted what would happen, and although the actions of another person, unknown to them, could never be their fault, if they hadn't taken steps to break Sebastian, then he might not have been in harms way in the first place. They, all of them, found it necessary to take steps to efface the stains upon their souls.

People had been hurt, and friendships had been betrayed. Virtues had been desecrated, and lies abounded until they had each witnessed the ugly deviancy which existed in all of them. This affair had been drawn by a fine line, which they had religiously tread, but wasn't every thread just a loose end in reconciliation's tapestry? There comes a point in every discord where affected parties have to put aside their differences and just move forward. And here, now, they had reached that point.

Taking in Sebastian's condition now, it was almost impossible to believe that at its epitome, he had guided himself home. But then his flagrant recklessness had to possess at least some sense of self preservation also, to have accordingly survived seventeen years unbroken exercise. Sebastian was strong whenever and however he needed to be, independent of his actual state, but maybe right now, he didn't sense the need, because maybe right now he accepted that he had someone to fall back on.

"We need to get him to drink," Jeff said worriedly, watching Sebastian's ashen countenance with trepidation, "he's really dehydrated."

"He wouldn't," Trent returned flatly. "Everything I tried, he refused."

Jeff nodded solemnly, but time had put desire in their favour.

"Which means he's got to be thirsty now."

Which meant that they just had to entice instinct before thought took over.

As Sebastian finally came too, Jeff was ready, and placed the rim of the bottle immediately to his lips, whispering;

"Slow sips."

Desperate times called for unconventional methods, and sometimes it was important to play matter over mind, just as the opposite was true.

He spilled a measured amount passed Sebastian's cracked lips; just enough so that he could easily swallow. However, need caused Sebastian to respond in this limbo moment before lucidly took hold, and predictability he began to gulp the offering down. But Jeff's restraint ensured that he did not have the unpleasantry of revisiting it two second later, because despite his fervour, he never secured any more.

Driven to desperation by his newly awakened thirst, which he thought rhythmic mouthfuls could never be enough to slake, Sebastian reached up and tried to force more out of the bargain, but he was still weak, and Jeff resisted.

"Easy," he soothed again, helping Sebastian into a sitting position so that he could better take liquids. Awareness it seemed, had done nothing to curb the ardency of his desire now that it was realized. Thought and instinct. The other always followed what was incited first. "There's plenty more where this came from but you have to take it slow."

Finally, Sebastian began to listen, and probably for the first time, obey. And though his shaking hand remained to linger upon the bottom of the bottle, it was more out of a loss of what else to do with it than in opposition. In a remarkable moment, he swallowed his damnable pride and just let Jeff help him. Let someone who was willing, take care of him. And the novelty was nice.

As Sebastian calmed, Jeff increased the volume of his offering, and for ten minutes they were content; sharing a dependency, until the bottle was empty, and Sebastian had revived a fraction.

But regret came swiftly upon the heels of gratification, because possibly such a volume of water did not sit comfortably in his abused and otherwise empty stomach. Sebastian gravitated towards the bucket resignedly, and from the pyrotechnic performance Trent had witnessed earlier, he didn't blame the expectation.

"Sebastian, it's okay," Jeff reassured him, rubbing his shoulder gently. So maybe they were all sceptics, but precedent often tended to speak louder than hope.

"I'll be sick?" he croaked uncertainly, fixing Jeff with a half-lidded stare. He had long since reached a point where the action of throwing up had been given so much practice, it had ceased to be unpleasant, or even remotely shocking any more. He was just too exhausted to care.

"I don't think so," Jeff disagreed softly, taking pity of Sebastian's drawn state, and smoothing back his lank hair in a small gesture of comfort the other did not this time pull away from. "Just give it a few minutes and everything should settle down. Water on it's own wont make you sick, so why don't you lie back down a rest? If you feel like you need it, one groan and we'll have the bucket ready. Otherwise, you should really try and sleep; it'll make all this unpleasantness pass quicker."

In that moment, Sebastian looked up at him with such frightened innocence as almost made Jeff cry. His eyes asked; why is this happening to me? Told the world that he was afraid. Sebastian acted cold, but he wasn't. He just presented himself that way in order to survive; inside he was confused and he was searching.

He could be a remarkable person, wanting only the sustenance of another souls affection. The oppressed looked out of the tyrants eyes, at the destruction, both to themselves and the world around them, their discourse had wrought. _This_ was what it took for Sebastian to show that he was vulnerable, the most extreme spectrum of restraint.. And this, the vulnerability of a fallen leader; a figure of raw power who should have been insurmountable – was what shocked and compelled them now to help him.

As Jeff eased him back into the embrace of nylon, Sebastian gripped his wrist with such tenacity that it was painful, but Jeff bore it.

Sebastian, even through the haze of exhaustion – or maybe _because_ of it – couldn't believe now, how willing he had been to hurt this boy. How little he had thought of him; as nothing more than leverage for a cruel scheme, how inconsiderate and reprehensible he had behaved towards him. They both knew it … and yet, here Jeff was; helping him. He didn't deserve the sympathy and certainly not the redemption.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, full of feeling.

"Hey, it's okay," Jeff laughed a little, thinking Sebastian was apologising for his current state.

"S'not."

But as soon as Sebastian's head hit the pillow, all further argument was lost from his lips. He was out in a second. Or, at least, so they thought.

Jeff waited for the grasping hand to slacken, before he slid his own from the grip. He then took this moment to measure Sebastian's pulse again, and was encouraged by the results. Nick and Trent looked on anxiously.

"His heart rate's going back up," Jeff told them.

"That's a good sign, right?" Trent ventured, daring hope.

"Yeah," Jeff allowed himself a small smile, "it's a good sign. My best guess is that this guy must have slipped him a tranquillizer; a depressant, which work by slowing down the nervous system. The fact that his heart rate's coming back up means the drugs finally beginning to leave his body. He's out of immediate danger, but we'll still have to keep an eye on him for a while."

And with that assurance, the blonde yawned and stretched, having grown incredibly stiff kneeling at Sebastian's bedside.

"I'll take the first watch," Trent volunteered, then turning to Jeff, "You should take a break. Go and get a coffee or something, you look absolutely wiped."

Jeff could not deny that he felt it, as Nick pulled him to his feet. He felt like he had aged fifty years in as many minutes, but more negativity was something this situation definitely didn't need, so instead, he said; "yeah, I guess we're all running a little low on sleep, huh?"

Nick kissed him delicately on the nose, urging him forwards, determined to take care of _him_ now, because Jeff was beginning to challenge Sebastian for a lack of colour.

"Come on, let's see if we can't get you a cinnamon stick too."

He grinned when Jeff could not resist licking his lips.

But it was a small, incomprehensible sound uttered by Sebastian's stirring form, which stopped each of them in their tracks. Even as he fought to keep them open, his eyes slipped closed again and again, unyielding to his will, as he whispered one single word over and over again with fervour.

It was a moment before they recognised it; a name. One of theirs.

"Nick? … Nick? … Nick?"

He appealed for the brunettes proximity, and with such a desperation that not even a stone heart could ignore.

Up until this point Nick had hung back; torn. But something about hearing his name spoken by those wasted chords resolved him. In that moment, he chose release, because though natural sense denied it, it was always harder to fight.

He felt Jeff's hand tighten around his own; a reaction of tension and uncertainty, and maybe, Nick thought, protection, for the movement was of a cast he knew only to intimately.

"It's okay," Nick reassured him, and with gentle touches, secured his liberty. And it was.

He expected to find his mind flooded with a thousand different emotions, urging him to pull back as he closed the distance between them, but instead he was just numb. He had already expended everything he owned. This wasn't revolution, it was just something which had to happen – the natural course of events; nature healing where nurture had divided.

He kneeled in the line of Sebastian's sight, but the eyes were distant and unseeing again, they couldn't focus, even to grant the culmination of his wish.

"Nick? …"

"I'm here." He touched Sebastian's wrist for a second, wary of its vice. But the hand did not grasp this time. If anything, it retracted.

And then, Sebastian launched into a deluge of repentance which they wouldn't have thought his tongue presently able to perform.

" … What I did to you was cruel and wrong. I was jealous and I was bitter, and you didn't deserve to bare the brunt of that …"

All this time, Nick had believed that he needed to hear an apology, but now that it was offered, he found the effort unnecessary, because he had already forgiven, and all he wanted to do now was forget. Put the past behind them, lock it behind the bars of distraction where it belonged.

"Hey," he cut Sebastian off, "don't worry about that now, okay? Just listen to Jeff and try and get some sleep."

For once in his life, Sebastian didn't need telling twice. And within a minute, his breathing evened out again. This time, he was under for good.

Nick fell back into Jeff's waiting arms, feeling strangely disconnected from himself.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart!" the blonde gushed.

Nick buried his face deep into the crook of Jeff's neck and smiled. He was proud of himself too.

~ * … * ~

_He had made acquittance with this fey mood before; looking down upon its consumption from the ledge above. And now he was consumed by it, looking up. A dark, swirling void it had seemed then, and now that view was almost compelling compared with the experience. It was a black hole from which few got out of alive, and he wasn't even prepared to try. On the contrary, he welcomed the corruption, the dark desperation and torment – he embraced each with a dangerous lust. _

_Every drink he downed that night was a double, and every soul which dared approach him, tore down in the most brutal fashion. He wasn't looking for a good time, he was looking to secure a state of numbness, which not even the memory of emotion served. He was looking for relief, because he found himself, once again, alone in the world, and the ostracism __**hurt**__. Bled like an open wound, and with such fervency that, without suppression, it would surely kill him. _

_Whiskey chased down brandy, which in turn chased down gin, until the more pleasurable sensations of intoxication were subjugated to the flagrant passion of anger; in itself an unusual response. Alcohol made him willing when he came here feeling worthless, and, as a mood amplifier, made him dangerous when he came here destroyed. To his ire; all conversation was obnoxious, oblivion was not coming quick enough, and the unoriginal music was frankly unbearable._

_He rose to change it, and that was when he saw him; the guy – if such a classification could be made – who had approached him the other night; whose craggy features had so repulsed and offended Sebastian._

_He was watching Sebastian now, with those same, intelligent eyes stored in a hewn face of stone. He was separating the same from the fulfilment of his intent. A living rock in the middle of the floor, presuming the audacity to speak to him._

_Sebastian was enraged, because somehow, this stranger had become like a symbol of his damnation; a vision of what he would become: grotesque. Better and worse because his deformity was on the inside; it blighted the soul while leaving the face untouched. _

_Sebastian in that moment longed for confrontation; the chance to get back to himself, and so he stumbled forward boldly, until only a few feet separated them, and he shouted in his most vindictive tone:_

"_' The fuck, you looking at?!"_

_And he slammed into the figure, his whole body weight concentrated behind his shoulder, causing both of them to stumble. The nameless one grunted, and while he looked Sebastian defiantly in the eye, his hand, unseen by any, slipped two white tablets into the drink Sebastian lucked to be holding. It was his single purpose for being there that night. _

"_You got a problem there Quasemodo?" Sebastian spat, tearing the figure apart with his stare. "If not; move outta my way …"_

_Obligingly the other boy stepped aside, and melted back into the shadows. _

_Sebastian attended the jukebox, electing a number as dark as his mood, which he was surprised Scandals even owned. He downed the rest of his drink in one, not even noticing the sour acidity at the conclude, which good whiskey never possessed, and should have been his first indication that all was not right. No-one dared to approach him after that. _

_However, it required only twenty minutes for him to realize that something was seriously wrong. His world began to grow hazy, and before his eyes distend; transforming into a psychedelic unreality. He blinked heavily and shook his head, trying to clear it, but the sensation only secured him further. His limbs grew heavy and uncooperative, and by confusion he was robbed of the ability to think. Panic set in, because he __**understood**__ what was happening, he just didn't understand __**how.**__ And as he felt the contents of his stomach rush up into his throat, he bolted into the alleyway at the side._

_It was there that he was accosted. Rough hands seized him from behind, and he was too dazed to muster up the resistance to fight back. The alleyway was too dark to descry an assailant, even if he had attacked head on. For a moment, Sebastian considered shouting, and hesitated too long before the opportunity was gone. _

_Incontestable strength shoved him against a brutal, pebble-dash wall, and the pain of the impact broke through his disillusionment. It reawakened his faculties just long enough for him to make sense of what little his eyes could see, under the weak and distant presence of a street lamp._

_Through the agony, dankness and fearful confusion, craggy features leered at him; the savage delight of a slave trapping his oppressor. The demonstration that no-one was invulnerable. It was a look of equal parts desperation and glee, a fleeting sentiment of victory in a lifelong defeat. _

_Sebastian struggled against him, but it was futile; his hands were pinned, and his escapist efforts only succeeded in injuring himself more. The only feasible conclusion his addled mind could draw from the noisome series of events was that he was about to be attacked – and that he was helpless to prevent the attack. He didn't know then that the wounding of words would be enough for this offended party._

"_Get the hell off me!" Sebastian endeavoured to order. But the words came out garbled, his tongue a false betrayer to speech. _

_The intimate stranger, however, only pushed harder, until Sebastian felt the razor edged stones tear his back into ribbons even through the material of his jacket. The boy was so close now that Sebastian could count every crater in the ruined skin, could smell the sickly, sweet scent of his breath, could not escape those eyes, which were given vaguely horrific qualities the longer they were engaged. And then, an arm was pressed against his windpipe, making it near impossible to breath._

" … _please …"_

"_You think you're so much better than everyone else, don't you?"_

_It was the first time Sebastian had ever heard him speak, and the voice, which sent a chill down his spin was both sultry and compelling. It was a tone the Warbler could have fallen in love with in its own right. But, because it was __**his**__, it was made replant; a sinister addition to an already horrific situation. Sebastian liked him better as a stone. _

"_That a pretty face and a fortune gives you the grace of god to treat people like shit. WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, TELLING ME I'D BE BETTER OFF DEAD!? THAT I'LL NEVER BE LOVED!? Look at you, your perfect, friggin gods gift to humanity, and yet, no-body loves __**you**__ do they? That's why you have to sell yourself out like a tramp. I can live with the way I look, but what do you see when you look at yourself? You're scum, you know that? You're a sleazy, despicable low life who deserves everything he gets. And maybe it's __**you**__ who would be better off dead …" _

Sebastian slept for five hours unbroken; tossing and moaning occasionally, as if in the grips of some inescapable nightmare, or perhaps even a memory, but never stirring. And they attended him determinedly, watching over his unreachable figure without respite.

Time lost all sense of meaning in that room; it stretched and it stalled, until a minute felt like an hour, and the notion that they had somehow been pulled into a queer alternate reality, suddenly didn't seem to incredible to accept. The only certain way to mark its passage soon became by the sound of the interceding bell, which broke up lessons, and even that was hushed in the dormitories, meaning that they often fancied that they had missed it.

But maybe the fact that this day was so violently opposed to their prior representation of Dalton was a blessing in disguise, because maybe it would make the two easier in the mind to separate, and the worse hopefully easier to forget.

When Sebastian's breath had become less laboured, and their knees ached from the unforgiving vantage they had thus far maintained, they seized the opportunity to relocate to the mattress opposite, for Sebastian's room was a double, though it had never boasted a secondary tenant.

In the light of things, they couldn't help but wondering; might events have turned out differently if it had?Sebastian both craved and shunned intimacy, through a desire of love, and the fear of the same's rejection, and they knew he only accepted their help now because he realized he had no other option. And, no matter the earnestness of his repentance, once this was over, he would quickly rebuild the walls between them.

But what if one soul had persisted? What if one soul had come before them and determined not to give up on him, for it would have only taken one. Somehow, despite his defensive hostility, they felt Sebastian would have eventually yielded, and then they wouldn't be here today; forced to assume a resistant part in a very adult world. But that, of course, then opened up the question, if not here, then were _would_ they be?

Trent sat with his back pressed against the wall, his knee's brought up to his chest; feeling the point of pressure between concrete and skin grow alternatively numb and reawakened. Similar to the pinch which denied the presence of a dream, it formed the only reminder, at that time, that this was reality.

Nick sat close beside him, with Jeff drawn onto his lap; a seeking need for comfort, which neither knew who initiated. The blonde alone out of all of them, remained fraught with tension; a practised cynicism perhaps, reserved for such similar scenarios only. While they grew assured of, and encourage by, Sebastian's recovery, he remained reserved.

Nick, of course, hated to see him so strained, and so he ran his fingers across Jeff's back and shoulders, at least trying to coax the stiff muscles and and rigid posture into relaxing. Trying to afford his boyfriend some semblance of relief.

Jeff sighed contentedly when Nick's fingers hit a specific spot between his shoulder blades, and Nick honed in to concentrate his efforts there, until Jeff became limp and sunk into his embrace, though he still retained his rapt attention on Sebastian. Nick kissed the back of his neck lovingly. His boy was selfless.

Sparingly, conversation had been exchanged in hushed tones, mostly constituting questions they could never really know the answers to; what would happen next? How had things ended up like this? Would he be okay; physically _and_ emotionally? What could have possible drove him to entertain the propensity of destructive tendencies he imbued? Why had no-body ever thought to stop him, before it was too late?

Their collective absence from class had surely, by this point been noted, and they wondered at the repercussions they would face. Nothing short of a deathbed confessional would have authorised a Warblers absence from class in Wes' day. But somehow, they didn't think Sebastian would follow precedent, especially when it had been his own similar confessional that they were preventing. Detention was certainly a resounding consequence, but maybe even that could be avoided by the subtle impart of half-truths, for after all, they had not restrained their presence for deviancy, but for the sacrifices of overseeing the welfare of a friend (well, loosely defined, at least.)

When three O'clock came, Trent ventured forth upon a scavenger mission to secure them some provisions, and to find something dry but compelling, with which they could hopefully tempt Sebastian.

When they were alone, Jeff shifted guilt filled eyes onto Nick, and whispered in the smallest, most heartbreaking voice possible;

"I'm sorry."

He seemed to retreat within himself, becoming like a cold presence in Nick's arms, which slowly pulled away. It was as if he was just waiting for the moment when Nick would cease being so noble and push him aside in repulse.

Instead, Nick only drew him closer, and with more determination when Jeff gave a whine of protest. The affection made the blonde want to cry, because any second now, he feared he would lose it.

"What for?" Nick asked, aghast. What could Jeff have possibly done to be sorry for?

"For making you feel so awful! For making you watch! He needed to know someone was there, but it didn't mean anything I swear! I'll never be unfaithful to you Nick, never. I need you to know that I love you too much …"

And suddenly, Nick understood. The way Jeff had smoothed Sebastian's hair back, in a gesture less intimate than with them, the way he had took the Warbler's face in his hands and called the fixation of those eyes, the way he had allowed the desperate contact between them.

They were actions Nick had watched without jealousy and without threat, because he knew the conviction of their love, and he knew _Jeff_ too well to even consider another – and especially Sebastian – becoming the object of that same reception. They were nothing more than actions compassion had undertaken to reassure, and yet with a burdened heart, he suddenly understood too, they had done nothing but torture Jeff since.

Could this boy astound him any more?

He rocked them both back and forth for an instant, before imparting Jeff's own wisdom back to him:

"No-one's ever going to reproach you for offering kindness; and least of all me."

Jeff groaned a little, and from the sound, Nick took encouragement.

"Silly,"he said tenderly, sweeping Jeff's fringe from his eyes, "getting so worked up over nothing. Of course I know you don't like Sebastian. Wanna know how?"

Jeff nodded, his breath stuttering as Nick layed a palm just left of the centre of his chest.

"Because I know this heart too well to doubt it."

Trent returned soon after with a feast of sandwiches, crisps and chocolate bars. A packet of ginger nut biscuits were reserved for Sebastian.

His expression, they immediately marked, was incredulous, and without prompting, he launched into an animated elaboration;

"You wouldn't _believe_ who I ran into, what excuses I had to come up with, and the amount of fast talking I had to do just to get back here. Cliff notes version: we're out of detention, and if anybody asks, Sebastian's got a migraine."

He sank down dramatically onto the bed and offered up his spoils, which they all devoured gladly.

"It's a good job your so convincing," Nick laughed ripping open a Twirl.

Trent cast a wistful glance in Sebastian's direction and sighed;

"Not always convincing _enough_." Because Sebastian, despite implore in his best interests, had refused any but their help, and initially had resisted even that.

It was five pm, and the world had been given over to darkness when Sebastian awoke. A starless night was visible outside the cold and condensated panes. There was no moon to cast a silver aspiration.

They were alerted to his return to consciousness by a groan, and attended him immediately, morbidly fearing the worst.

He was slow to open his eyes, and almost immediately closed them again with a whimper, reaching up a hand to massage his temple. The way his tongue made a quick perusal of his mouth before calling out a grimace, confirmed that the prolonged spell of vomiting had left an acrid taste there, which his previous take of liquids had done nothing to dilute.

Jeff readied another bottle of water to offer, but he already knew that the time Sebastian would willingly suffer them to help him was spent. Even now, he would be beginning to rebuild the barriers between them – the walls which kept the rest of the world out – making himself even more inaccessible _because_ they had seen him so weak. But there might yet still be a chance to get through to him. They had to believe that sympathy would save him.

Without warning, he assumed control over his muscles again, as he had not priorly demonstrated, and with herculean effort, forced himself to sit up. That action alone was testament to the drugs defeat. But still weak yet, the movement left him white and panting.

"How are you feeling?" Jeff asked, surveying him with a practised eye.

Sebastian's fighting spirit was back, but he didn't need sight to know that.

"Fantastic," Sebastian griped, burying his head in his hands, "but as to whether I still feel drugged up, which is what you're really asking; no."

Nick couldn't help raising an eyebrow at his tone, unconvinced that audacity was really a step up from lethargy. He heard Trent snort a laugh beside him. But then, maybe after all he had been through, Sebastian had earned a little leeway to be petulant.

Jeff, however, was unperturbed by his patients incivility, choosing to interpret it rather as a indication of returning vigour and health.

"Headache?" he asked mildly, while Sebastian just grunted in response. "Your still pretty dehydrated. Think you can drink a little more?"

Sebastian opened his eyes just long enough to gaze at Jeff and offer up a weak phantasm of his old sardonic grin;

"Or maybe I'm just hungover …" When the blonde frowned at his undermining tone, Sebastian continued, evincing a strange kind of satisfaction from degrading the efforts of the boy who had done so much to help him, and was even now, still trying. Why was he such a vindictive person?

"What, you think I just had one drink and was unlucky enough to get spiked?" he scoffed.

"How much _did_ you drink?" Nick asked, endeavouring not to sound condescending.

When Sebastian turned his gaze upon Nick, the brunette knew that the part of him which had sought redemption had once again be subjugated; by this impenetrable shield of scorn which he assumed as his character. It was like glimpsing Dr. Jekyll within Mr. Hyde.

"Lost count," he shrugged insolently.

Provoked by the ingratitude, and with the strength of impertinence overriding his frail appearance, Nick spat;

"Well _that's_ responsible."

"That's life!" Sebastian returned with alacrity. "Be killed living it, or else be killed by it."

But for all his savage speech, a lance of pain must have shot through his head, for the next moment he groaned and returned to cradling it again, his vexation forgotten.

Ever conscious of how precarious his condition remained, Jeff attempted to instil some civility and composure back into the scene, but Sebastian, it seemed, wasn't taking the bait.

"Nick's right, you shouldn't be so flippant. Don't treat yourself like you don't matter -"

"I _don't_ matter!" Sebastian strained his voice to shout and yet, for an instant, they detected anguish there. Then, in a bitter and abrasive tone, he accused; "You all made sure of that."

Like a child, he turned away from them. But as a teenager, the action seemed more effecting; constituting a deeper sin – because maybe his allegation held a grain of truth, that they had been trying all day to run from.

"W-what?" Jeff stammered, instinctively drawing into himself; drawing away from Sebastian, as if the words were a physical lash. He felt Nick slipping into a defensive temperament beside him.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" Sebastian continued with a somewhat sadistic tone, still facing the wall. "The realization that you might be responsible for someone else's misery. That your actions may have been the ruin of them; of their lives. It eats away at you, until you can't think of anything else. I had one good thing in my sorry excuse for a life; just one, and you took it from me. You made me into nothing!" And in that instant, he turned back to them; a feral animal; an ungovernable savage, and bellowed; "_YOU_ DID THIS TO ME!"

And this time, it was Trent who took up the courage to speak; while Jeff physically shook at the tone which was an all too prominent reminder of a past he would do anything to forget, and Nick, indignant to the accusation, only expended his efforts to soothe the blonde. At first he had been uncertain, but now he was sure; what had happened last night was not their fault

"No Sebastian," Trent disagreed in a low voice, reasonable and yet somehow uncompromising, "you did this to yourself. It was your choice to go to that bar last night, your choice to try and incite, I don't know … alcohol poisoning, your choice to make someone feel so worthless, so intolerant of themselves that this was the only way they could think of to stop the hurt, and it's your choice now to be so pigheaded and downright deplorable, when all we've tried to do is help you. Can't you even see it? Can't you just for one minute take a look outside of yourself? You might think the world owes you a favour, Sebastian, but guess what, it doesn't, so maybe try being grateful when people do you one. I could have left you to rot, Nick and Jeff could have refused to help, and do you know what, we'd have probably been justified in doing so. But we put our feelings aside to help you, even in spite everything you've done, and we'd do it again, just because no-body else will, and because we'd prefer to think there was actually some good in you. So it's about time you showed us some damn gratitude, and a little bit of respect."

Trent had never spoke to anyone in his life how he had spoke to Sebastian today, and as likely never would again. He wondered momentarily where he got the boldness, but then, maybe it had always been there, waiting dormant for this one moment. Because this was the last opportunity of this world to deliver him, and it was a quota they were determined to fulfil by any means necessary.

Sebastian appeared stony, but reasonable, at least. It seemed the fervour he had worked himself into, had purloined the meagre reserve of recuperative energy he had managed to pool together, leaving him exhausted again. Was this what it would be like? A war every time he had the energy to fight? But his eyes gave doubt to the notion, because then they betrayed chastisement; a man not only _believing_ he was wrong, but _accepting_ it.

And, it had taken Nick this long to descry it, but finally he thought he understood, and there was no resentment in the sentiment. Sebastian and himself were not so different; they had both been holding onto the wrongs done to them; nursing grievances too meticulously and blindly, too bent on the hurt to release themselves and allow them to forgive. Sebastian was the warning against what poison a grudge could work, and Nick was the hope for absolution. In that moment, which somehow brought them onto equal terms, he reached out; offering hope, even as Jeff, inadvertently, had offered it to him.

"It's not us you're really angry with Sebastian, and pretending it is won't displace that pain, it won't make it go away. But then, you know what already don't you? It's what you've been searching for all this time; a sedative, something to make it fade."

And quite suddenly, they glimpsed another side of him; sensitive – he was the inquisitive, charming, amiable child they had read such high praise about – a single tear rolled down his cheek, and he did not even think to life a hand and brush it away. Because this was not weakness. This was Sebastian allowing himself to be human; vulnerable. This was strength.

He turned to Jeff, who kept Nick's hand clutched close at his heart, to the boy who had helped him so selflessly, when he had given him no reason to extend the kindness, and who, even through the memory of demons – which Sebastian even berated himself in that moment for giving new solidity – looked upon him so benignly, still so determined to heal.

"I'm sorry I frightened you."

And he really was; only, this time the remorse didn't feel like it could kill him.

Jeff smiled a little, before handing over the uncapped water bottle;

"I don't know if anyone's ever told you, Sebastian, but you're kind of a jerk sometimes."

Nick bit his lip to keep from laughing, at what was so unusually forward for Jeff, but Trent was without such restraint, and chortled merrily until breathlessness forced him to stop. All the tension of the atmosphere was dissipated in one earnest phrase, and that was exactly why Jeff had said it.

Sebastian excepted the criticism with grace, rather thinking that Jeff had been too noble. He was a jerk, and much worse than that _most_ of the time. And yet, he endeavoured to do something he had never exerted himself to do before; explain, and maybe, perhaps, even justify.

"I don't mean to be," he admitted pensively. "Half of the time, I don't even know why I do the things I do, apart from just to prove that I can. I guess I got myself into the mindset that if I'm not hated, then I'm not anything, and I can't stand to be nothing. But then, every time someone tries to get close to me, every time life boast the possibility of a single positive influence – and the occasions have been rare, assuredly – it's like there's a pathological need inside me to drive them away again, because … because I don't want people to know me. That's the best way I can describe it."

They considered this while Sebastian drank, in a pregnant silence. Maybe what he was unwittingly seeking was boundaries, because as far as they could tell, no-one had ever even presumed to tell him no. People rebelled against restrictions, it was true; but they also provided a source with which we could navigate the world; one of the first things we were taught. And what happened when the impart of even such simple notions was neglected? You ended up like Sebastian; wild, out-of-control, bitter, warped and confused. But the worst part was, all of this had been done _to_ him. Sebastian had never had a choice.

When he had drained the bottle, and looked infinitesimally less like death warmed over, Jeff ventured to ask;

"How's the headache?"

Sebastian appeared to consider this for a moment before returning the slightly wry answer:

"A little better, I guess. It would be even better still if I knew I could take a couple of aspirins," he smiled somewhat regretfully before concluding; "But, I think there's been enough toxins coursing through my body lately."

"Whoa, careful, Seb," Trent cautioned with a laugh, "that was dangerously close to wisdom there."

And, somehow, in that moment, they knew things would be alright. Not immediately, not simply overnight – where a thousand misguided actions could be taken back – but eventually. Giving them something to aim for, giving them something to work towards.

Sebastian would recover; his stubborn resilience would ensure it, and they had certified their liberty with kindness. Avenged a fallen friend, who now carried here little voice of his own, and without a thought of violence – although, violence had found the persecutor anyway. They had taught causality to one who had counted himself above and immune, and they had buried a tarnished hatchet. They were equals in a way that Sebastian had never considered before; proven. They had attained such a state of self content and assurance as his vindictive words couldn't touch them.

He was forced to consider, that maybe this was friendship; founded in the most unlikely of circumstances and between the most shocking of candidates. Something he was both compelled to, and in restraint of. Something he could not put up barriers against, and maybe something he didn't want to. Friends were there through the best and worst of times; a constant in a sea of trouble, whether you wanted them to be or not. And for him, they were the only one who ever had been, beginning in the worst.

Maybe, just maybe, this would be enough to change him …

While it was common practice for people to roll their eyes, and chuckle mildly at Trent's jocular remarks, Sebastian, however, frowned, as if not recognising humour for what it was, and even when they thought he did, that it bore him no personal offence. He may have understood every sin of human nature like his own, and knew how to exploit them to their extent, but he did not understand _people_.

Jeff tore open the packet of biscuits, which seemed like an intrusive sound in the moment; because for second, the reminder of mundane reality seemed vulgar to these brilliant new ideas. He offered them to Sebastian, who eyed the sugary treats wearily; after revisiting a weeks worth of lunches, the part-taking of food again just didn't seem that appealing, even if he couldn't deny his hunger. Jeff read the indecision knowingly.

"They wont make you sick," he assured confidently, "ginger's really good for nausea; if anything, it'll help settle your stomach."

And, as if to demonstrate that they were not in fact trying to poison him, Jeff plucked one from the packet and ate it himself, savouring the flavour of the root. Still marking the Warblers resistance, he added a further incentive; "If you can eat a couple, we'll see about that aspirin."

Maybe Sebastian would have smirked and sniped something similar to; 'gee, thanks mom,' detracting all the significance from what Jeff had done. But then, he remembered, she hadn't even done that.

When her son, barely thirteen years, had been at the mercy of a hangover his young body was ill adept to cope with, Lillian Ferenze had left the house; left him alone and frightened, and unable to stop. When he rolled home drunk at five in the morning, they didn't even batter an eye. They just didn't care enough.

He had to stop driving people away, because he knew only too intimately and abhorred the loneliness he would be forced back to. He had to stop seeing the world in black and white, and instead consider it in shades of grey.

So, instead, he tried obedience on for size and found it a comfortable fit. He took a single biscuit and nibbled it cautiously.

Nick, Jeff and Trent looked on with joy, because they were getting better and better at this all the time. Handling Sebastian was more about convincing him to trust, than a necessity of control.

Feeling their eyes upon him and feeling self-conscious in his less than dapper state, which formed another unofficial vestige of the face he chose to present to the world, Sebastian mumbled a sentiment of gratitude. Clumsily, because he had never had to thank anyone in his life.

"I, er … appreciate you … you know … helping me. I can't really say that I deserved it." He thought the words would taste sour, but they didn't, at least, no more sour than his mouth tasted already.

And because, in the interceding hours, they had reconciled themselves to confession, they seized their opportunity now. For, after all, though they were the wronged party, none of them had demonstrated upstanding citizenship in this affair. And, though they may endeavour to deny it; guilt had drove them to seek redemption, even as it was driving Sebastian now.

As all of this had started with Nick, and the brunette was determined that it would end with him as well.

"We are not blameless in this either, so lets call it even." Sebastian frowned, nonplussed, but Nick urged him to listen. "We did something more invasive than just turn a room of people against you. Something which you would never have known about, but that it's killing us to keep secret. We attained a copy of your personal records – don't ask us how. We know you've got a list of awards longer then the yellow pages; we know that your family moved around a lot, and you were forced every time to assimilate; we know you acted out – got expelled twice; and … we know you were fourteen when you filed for emancipation from your parents, owing to exceptional circumstances. But what we don't _understand_ is; why?"

If Sebastian had any colour left to lose, they were certain he would have lost it. Instead, the perceptible trembling in his hand as he raised the biscuit mechanically to his mouth – just for the excuse to be doing _something_ – and the wild, arrested flight in his eyes, which searched for any escape from the impending contribution of truth, were the things which indicated his effect.

They had expected anger, scorn, indignation, and maybe would have preferred it … anything but the vulnerability he betrayed; as if the wound was just as raw now as three years prior when it was opened. They expected ire towards the parents he had disowned, and while it was there, it was dominated by something else, which could not in that moment be described.

But Sebastian hadn't survived this long by allowing himself to be governed by his emotions, he after all, had perfected a mask he wore every day to face the world, and was fluent in deflection.

He laughed, but the sound was empty, and just as suddenly, any traces of his reaction were gone.

"Well, you three are certainly more cunning than I've ever given you credit for. I didn't see that one coming."

He shook his head slightly, in the most coolest way possible, completely disregarding the issue as void, rather than facing what it meant. With Sebastian, pretence was everything.

But if he thought they would give up so easily when they came closer to securing the truth than anyone had ever ventured, he was sorely mistaken.

"Why would you do that?" Jeff persisted quietly, with a mournful tone that was absent of any accusation. Seeking to know how someone could have the strength so young to face the world alone, and how that strength had found him here; deserted and broken.

"It's complicated." Was all Sebastian answered, unable to meet their eyes; wishing all of this would just go away. He had been running for so long that he was afraid to stop. What happened now, when he was too weak to flee? What happened now when the fight was brought to him?

"Try us," Trent prompted. It was offered as a reassurance that, in this, he wasn't alone, and yet, Sebastian perceived it as a threat.

Desperation resurged something of his old character, and before he could adequately remember to curb his volatile anger, he spat:

"I don't need to explain myself to _you_!"

Three days ago, they would have quailed beneath his stare, but now, they returned it, waiting for him to recover that better part of himself and realize that they were trying to help.

The tempestuous sea calmed, but he did not beg excuse. His expression was one of desolate defiance.

"No, you don't," Jeff admitted freely, "you're under no obligation to tell us anything except to mind our own business. But think about this; isn't it bottling everything inside which has got you here? Hasn't that same necessity of control ensured that, actually, you haven't got any? Somewhere down the line, you have to let somebody in. Maybe you already have. I'm not saying you have to tell us everything, but you've _got_ to talk to someone, or else everything you feel is just going to consume you, like drowning in your own mind, and I don't meant ten years down the line …"

"Sometimes, it already feels like it has," Sebastian admitted tightly, haunted eyes lost to memory.

"Then, talk to us!" Nick begged. "I know what hate feels like, Sebastian; it destroys and it poisons, until it seems like there's nothing good left; in the world, in yourself. I've hated you, probably more than I'll ever hate anyone else in my life. But do you know what? All I succeeded in doing was hurting myself, because, as if you cared what I felt. If you don't want to forgive someone for hurting you, then be selfish and forgive them for yourself. Whatever they did is not an agony worth inflicting upon yourself."

When Jeff looked up at Nick, he saw a shadow of Aragorn, emboldening his men as their king to storm the Black Gate, so that two weary hobbits somewhere out there in the world, stood one final chance. He saw the king of his own future.

Sebastian drew in a tremulous breath, and presented his narrative with effect. A life full of value and without love. A part of himself he had never allowed anyone to be privy to before.

"My parents were the very worst breed of the very best society. Conceited, proud, vindictive, callous, selfish, cold – I'm sure you'd agree that I inherited my fair share of their most defining attributes. They made a fortune and spent it on living. They lived a life without responsibility, full of fine parties and overindulgence. _I_, of course, was a mistake. One she didn't even have the accountability to take back.

"They resented me even before I was born; _she_ resented what I took from her; he body, and what I would continue to take thereafter; her time. And he resented the dependency of a contemptible part of himself, which he could never love, because my life represented a necessity to curb selfish spending. I was a burden and they raised me accordingly."

Sebastian's tone was so bitter, and yet so full of anguish and agony that they were all moved to pathos.

"I only ever learned two things from my parents; first, how to manipulate people into getting exactly what I wanted, and second, that love didn't exist outside of fairy tales.

"I grew up independent and self sufficient. Before I could ever really remember them being there they were gone; to work, to social events; to anywhere that wasn't with me. My parents enjoyed long office hours, more so, I believe, after I was born. My early childhood's pretty much a blur of endless days spent alone in the house which seemed like my prison – full of silence and emptiness.

"At first, I filled up the hours with anger. I was restless. But worse than that; I was starved of attention; nurture. I was naïve in those days, I confused material gain with love, and I'd already been conditioned to want – in infancy, they bought my silence with bribery. But my melancholy ran deeper than that; a feeling such as childhood could not adequately comprehend. It was only later on that I realized it as neglect.

"When they eventually came home, I would rage … the only means I knew which would effectively win me their attention. When I was young, I told myself that my parents liked to play make-believe. They liked to make themselves believe that I didn't exist, and _that_ demanded a lot of practice in ignoring me. I was not a bad child, not really. Deep down, all I wanted was just for one of them to take me in their arms and hold me, but I could never make my want understood. They would look down on me with contempt; an expression I believed was their normal, and, in dealing with me, it was. After a time, I stopped seeking their love, and simply raged for the conciliation of their gifts.

"But, before that, spurred on by the conviction that, if only I could myself less troublesome; make myself _understood_, then I could win the attainment of their affection, as should have always been mine naturally. I began to learn. I had already began to sense their displeasure with me; and accorded it to something I had done, or failed to do.

"I was naturally curious and hungry for stimulation, so it wasn't difficult to turn my mind to absorption. And once the doors to learning were opened, I learned fast, for I had countless empty hours each day, which I readily devoted to my practice. In a month, I taught myself to read – an achievement you would think – but it received no commendation from them. They turned their backs on my demonstration, and in that moment something died inside me, young as I was. I had worked so hard to please them, and yet they still treated me with contempt. It was a harsh lesson. I gave up on their love after that, but I could not slate my lust for attention. And I would go to any lengths to secure it.

Things got better once I started school. I found my natural aptitude for learning won me instant acclaim and favour. My peers were insensible idiots compared to me, and I delighted in showing off." He gave a wry grin, as if to say; something things never change, huh? "For the first time in my life, I was valued; I was _coveted_, and could even go so far as to pretend I was loved. Everyone wanted to own some right to me, except the only two people I had ever wanted to cherish me. I would have settled for being even a prize show-piece in their eyes; anything. In those days, I was starved and desperate, and I think some of my earliest teachers descried the need, for I was always given preferential treatment; a kind of gentle nurture which was not afforded to anyone else. Even back then I bought my love from strangers, just at a more reasonable price." His tone was a bitter irony.

"They began to enter me for competitions, and I proved my worth again and again, winning every one – beating peers and superiors alike. I delighted in the thrill, and the rush of standing before a crowd who were all secretly backing me to win, was like nothing I had ever felt before. It made me feel _alive_. And from my very first taste, I was always desperate to get back to it – it's part of what makes performing so easy.

"This attention then, became my sustenance, and I would, and did do anything to endorse it. I devoted my every spare hour to studying and learning, lest, by my own actions, I lost the only thing which was keeping me going; their favour. I was determined that I would not go back to having nothing. My communication with my parents became minimal – something I am proud to say was my own choice. I didn't need them anyway, I was already self-sufficient. And while my silence improved family life considerably, on my part it made being at home near intolerable. I was not used to biting my tongue, and being given less consideration than the divan makes you feel like utter shit, no matter how much you pretend you're above it.

"So, once I was out of the house, I ensured that I stayed out of it for the longest period possible. Like everything else in my life, it became almost a game. I joined as many before and after school clubs as I could physically attend, and gave each my unlimited devotion. Naturally, I was approached in friendship, and for my part, I allowed it; but it was a weak alternative to what I really sought. And, interaction with my peers was always _tiresome_.

"Maybe, given time, I could have pieced together some lesser form of happiness. But, of course, my parents decided to move, and move, and move …

"My life then became an endless blur of people and places, without a single one working an impression, and they, of course, became my only constant. As depressing as that sounds, I assure you it was worse. I became their best kept secret, I was already their biggest mistake. And they made me feel less than worthless.

One year, I discovered I had a voice, and that all the animosity I felt could be channelled into the potent emotion of my performance. It became like a medium of expression, it allowed me to keep my head above water, even though I was still drowning. And I excelled there as well, but it came too late.

"When I was ten years old, I learned that my parents selfishness and neglect didn't constitute the natural caregiver bond. Back then, I was book smart, but I wasn't worldly smart – I later reversed the order – and I had assumed that all my peers had the same indifferent, contemptible relationship with their parents." He laughed in a sort of self mocking way. "How could I have known anything different? But it's amazing what tea at a friends house can open up. And the fact that they freely chose to hate me; just for the crime of being born by their carelessness; just for being the product of a mistake they wouldn't face up to – struck something deviant inside me, something from which there was no coming back.

"I had always been angry, but what overtook me then was something worse entirely, and from that moment onwards, I was on a downwards spiral, spinning out of control. They didn't care about my life, so I told myself I didn't either. I was reckless and I was pressured; a potent and dangerous mix. My record of achievements proceeded me, and the expectation was becoming increasingly more difficult to maintain. So … I washed out, in spectacular style.

"I craved attention, that much was still true, but I wasn't preoccupied with the connotations. I acted out, and it won me my reward more easily than excellence ever had. The tyrant and the intellect are always treated with kid gloves. I became the lost cause they kidded themselves they could win back.

"Destructive and naïve, I tried drinking – maybe to prove that I could handle myself, maybe just to forget. I didn't really develop my taste for it until three years subsequent.

"They found me, I guess, passed out on the bathroom floor, and left me there in disgrace. It was only later I realized that in my spite, I had done nothing but resoundingly confirm everything they ever thought I was.

"They were called into the school a little while later to discuss me, and the problem I had become. It was a novelty and a hindrance I presume, for my life had moved independent of theirs for a decade, and they didn't now appreciate the overlay. They had never once attended a parents evening.

"I expected punishment, but instead, I got consistency. It was made imperative that I stayed on at the school, for it was assumed that the disruption of my parents careers was the thing which had turned me. Little could they know that it was so much more than that. My parents accorded, I was old enough to be left home alone then anyway. It was surprising, however, what a mellowing effect stability had on me.

"As I'd become increasingly unmanageable, my parents had fallen into the habit of taking expensive and extended vacations; still running from the irresponsibility they had created in me. Their own imaged reflected. The more desperately I needed someone to pull me back, the more resolutely they deserted me; left me to the fields of my own ruin. Soon I began to realize that I could, and would only, be happy without them.

"But as I grew, something else began happening in me which I couldn't control. While my associates began to take an interest in girls, I began to take an interest in _them_. I didn't understand it, and yet I instantly hated it; this thing which made me different, made me a freak – which I couldn't even mollify myself with blaming my parents for. I knew I could never act upon these feelings, and so, I sought to destroy them; drown them in alcohol and consume them in hate. No-one had ever explained to me that they were normal, that people all over the world, and probably even in my class, shared my struggle. I believed I was alone … again. And this time, irreversibly.

"The thought tortured me; a torment equalled only by my parents contempt. I did a lot of stupid things, determined, when I feared it most, to prove to the world it couldn't hurt me. I was expelled, as you already know, from the only place that had ever had a positive influence on me.

"After a while, I turned to the internet – found out I wasn't quite so extraordinary or alone, but like everything else in my life, the revelation came too late. My parents found me one night, looking at a support site." He laughed bitterly, his expression was of pure pain. "The most attention they'd ever paid to me. And funnily enough, the only time they ever presumed the initiative to scold me, was when they found out I was gay. I, of course, was repellent, disgraceful, a shame upon their 'good name.' I would never have asked for their support, but their blatant intolerance incensed me, and we argued. In that time we exchanged more words than we had done in my entire life.

"They forbade me to act upon my _abnormality_, and I told them to go to hell. Then, that night, I went to the nearest bar and sold myself to the highest bidder; sealing my conversion, destroying any tattered raiment of innocence I might have had left in my possession. I didn't understand what I was getting myself into, and I was hooked before I knew I should stop. I acted out of hatred and obliterated self esteem, and the consequences have haunted me ever since.

"My parents kicked me out, of course, after that, and great pleasure they elicited in washing their hands of me too. I went to stay with a distant aunt and uncle, who quickly realized they couldn't handle me. And when I was fourteen, you know, I filed for emancipation. Because I was so young, I wasn't allowed to live alone, and I wasn't prepared to live in the house which reminded me so much of my parents. So I went to Paris, to my grandparents, who had never seen me, nor knew I was born until I was four. My aunty and uncle formed a second party of relative who were pleased to disassociate with me.

"A couple of years earlier, and maybe my grandparents kindness and affection could have saved me; a lifetime, and I would have been a different person. I used to wonder why my parents had never just given me up to them; they who would have loved me like their own. But after a while, you learn to stow fantasy and give up on dreaming. They hadn't, and that was all that mattered, because you could never change the past.

"As it was, however, again I made someone else's life hell, even without the intention. They refused to give up on me, but I saw and _hated_ how much I was hurting them, because, even despite their best efforts – and they were tireless – it was too late for me to change. I couldn't bare to watch them blame themselves, and so, I asked to come here instead. If I'd have found my way to them first, everything would have been different …"

He turned away from them, turned towards the wall, and turned his back on a past he wished he couldn't remember. He refused further exchange, or even acknowledgement, except but to order in a dull and powerless tone;

"Now go away."

Sleep claimed him, or at least, he feigned it did. To confess was one thing, to confront, quite another.

Nick and Jeff honoured his wish and left him, because they knew there was nothing further they could do. But Trent stayed, because he was salvation – the playwright behind the scenes, who kept every fractionate piece together. Few lives form the catalysis converters for others, but when you find one soul willing to bend for you, it's something you hold onto with all tenacity.

Sebastian did not love, it was true. Did not know _how_ to love, but the sacrifice he had made for his grandparents, people whom he so evidently admired and respected; his happiness for theirs, was the closest he had ever come to the virtue. Most of what we know, we only do because people have told us, but that brief stint of nobility, like everything else in his life, he had learned on his own.

He said it was too late for him to change, and yet, they saw changes already. All he had ever needed was faith.

~ * … * ~

Parents are not perfect, because perfection itself is a misconception; a stranger to the natural flaws of humanity. They try to guide us, drawing on their own experiences in turn as a guide, but they are not always right. They make mistakes, just as everybody makes mistakes, and sometimes we are guilty of holding them to a too higher standard, just as we claim they hold us. We often misunderstand each other, but eventually life learns us. We become them and they become a secondary party; a present and a past sharing common ground.

Or at least, that was how things were supposed to work.

Parents were supposed to represent an ideology of unconditional love. They were supposed to be the people one could reasonably take for granted would provide a constant port in life's storm. They were a sanctity, which in Sebastian's case, nature itself had violated.

Born to the hearts void of love, raised in the arms of contempt, he was broken, and some lesser part of him would always remain broken. There were some things which could never be taken back, some betrayals which ran too deep, some hurts which not even time could eradicate – nothing anyone could do would ever change the hardships of his past, would never make the armour of his being whole. But the kindness of people could heal him, if only he allowed it.

The actions of his parents had inadvertently forced Nick and Jeff to consider their own as they lay together upon the latters bed, swathed in the wombing folds of a winter duvet; as always, entwined. It forced them to give thanks that their fates did not mirror his, for often, it takes the occurrence of shocking events for us to realize the worth of all those things we take daily for granted.

The boys at Dalton were used to independent living, and while it was impossible to classify, most of their parents were the more severe end of pushy – Jeff's certainly were and traditionalists to boot. So although his confidants could not empathise with Sebastian, they could at least sympathise, knowing the sting of disappointed expectation. But even their parents worst qualities, they knew stemmed from a desire to see them achieve and find happiness. What would it have been like if they had been treated to the same disregard?

Nick and Jeff, though exhausted were uneasy, because Sebastian's confession had been poignant in another sense also, one much closer to home, and it had played upon their insecurities.

The reactions of Sebastian's parents to the revelation that he was gay, had both horrified and yet satisfied their own fears, because it was the response everyone dreaded. Rejection. And it was the response so many, themselves included, expected.

Both knew that neither of their parents would be particularly thrilled about their relationship. Maybe they'd call it unnatural (because they didn't understand it), maybe they'd term it damnable (because the past had taught them it was wrong), maybe they would say it was perverse (because it contravened tradition) and maybe they would think they could reverse it (because it was a choice, wasn't it?) But the thought that they could not accept it tortured them without respite.

They never wanted their lives to be found without each other, but they didn't want to lose the love of the people who raised them either. How then, did you make a decision based on impossible choices?

If love ever deserted them, though they knew in their hearts that it wouldn't, then they would let each other go. But they would not, just to appease the scorn of prejudice. They were living their lives for themselves, not for the dictation of anyone else, because love was something, once found, you fought every day, if needs must, to hold onto, was something you didn't often get a second chance at.

Resolution was found only in irresolution. They would not decide now. For now they would keep their secret, if secret it necessitated to be, and they would simply enjoy happiness; because if Sebastian's story had taught them anything, it was that every moment of it counts.

When they finally fell asleep, they did so in the arms of one another and the cradle hold of conviction. They made each other brave, gave each other the strength to face the world and boast that they did not bow. They were in love.

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><p><em>Thank you very much for reading :)<em>

_The next one is the last chapter and will deal with the 'Black or White' performance at McKinley and the ushering in of a new era._

_- One Wish Magic._


	7. There'll Be Peace When You Are Done

_Once again I can only apologise for the tardiness of my conclusion._

_Thank you to everyone who has read, favorited, alerted and reviewed this story and its predecessor 'And The Whole World Has To Answer Right Now.' I only hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. _

_Now that I've come to the end, I can honestly say that I'm going to miss this story. But one door closes and another one opens :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven:<strong>

_There'll Be Peace When You Are Done._

* * *

><p>Anger is the vice of life, which must one day find release, and in its absence; wounded one, may you yet find peace.<p>

Sebastian knew it was morning the instant he awoke. Knew that in the confines of the outside world, the air would be moist with the scent of dew; that a film of mist would be rolling slowly over the hills on the horizon, emblazoned with dawns first glittering gold; that everything would be still and perfect, resembling some unattainable dream; an impression wanting of a lens, before the dominant race ravaged it and the beautiful world retreated. He knew this, with the first sense of a blind man learning to see again – and yet, he did _not_ open his eyes to see it. Because the truth was, he had never cared before, and he didn't know how to begin.

Instead he clung to that moment of glorious suspendance where neither conviction held a hold; not the world of dreams retreating, nor realities growing substance, because awareness meant the resurgence of memory, and he did not want to remember.

But indifferent to denial or want, memory came anyway. Closing your eyes didn't make the world disappear, it just endorsed your fear of facing it. And Sebastian didn't need another incentive.

Though he pretended otherwise, the world had always frightened him, because it seemed too real. It was an austere land, devoid of love, engorged with hatred, and prejudice, and violence – it reminded him eternally of where he had began. The world did not answer to the will of one person, did not yield to the summons of control – and Sebastian's helpless beginning taught him that he _must_ control. It would not even, for borrowed time, bare the salvation of pretence, instead, like a nuclear missile, it sought it out and decimated in the cruellest manner possible.

That moment of bliss was an empty temptation; a wish we could never have. And in it's wake, he distracted his mind with the physical, if only to prolong the moment when he would have to confront what all of this meant.

Fortunately, it seemed that the after-effects of whatever drug he had been administered, had worn off, and despite a prevalent thirst and a distinct hollowness, which arose from the frugal consumption of three biscuits in a forty-eight hour frame, it seemed he was none the worse for the experience.

But then … maybe that was exactly the attitude which had landed him here in the first place.

Perhaps the view which should rather be taken was that; _this time_ he had been lucky, next time – because, with him, wasn't there _always_ a next time? - he couldn't expect to be so fortunate. Consequence caught up with every body in the end, and he had been a fool to presume that it didn't. Because, though he had played the game like a pro, even the banker lost eventually.

So, with a novice perception, he forced himself to see yesterdays repercussions as a warning; focused upon the all too precise remembrance of fear, which had abounded from finding his own body beyond the means of his control, a function before, his iron will had always retained, even in intoxication. He relieved the pain of inability, the horror of confronting an inner demons face, without the rapidity of knowing what was real and what was not, and the return to helplessness confusion had wrought upon him. He made them real; gave them life in thought, so that in action he would not …

Upon consideration then, maybe he had not survived the experience unscathed.

He had always abhorred his parents irresponsibility, and yet, in his scorn, he had achieved nothing more than to become their legacy; instead of rebelling against their memory, he had in fact, created a semblance of it within himself. He needed to prove that he could change, needed to _believe_ that some small shade of difference existed in him, which made him more than just their son. Because if he couldn't secure even that much …

It was the wrong avenue of thought to entertain, because unwittingly, it opened the floodgates for everything he did not want to confront. Memory had long since ceased to be an option, but it was in that moment that it became a necessity.

In his frightened and vulnerable state, he had told them everything, and there was no getting away from the fact. If he had ever entertained principles, he would have said he'd sold out on them. The one secret – his own – which he had sworn to keep (the shame of his parents disregard) he had confided to three enemies which re-sold themselves as friends, _because_ they had asked. Because no-one had ever asked. In hindsight, it was a poor justification.

He had been running from the truth for so long, he had convinced himself that the telling was impossible. But it wasn't. He had enveloped himself in the comfort of deceit, maintaining that he had made peace with the issue of his past. But he hadn't. He had assured himself that revelation would make him loathsome, the very foulest connotations of a coward. But it didn't.

He had been living his life blind, both in wilfulness and ignorance – incarcerated in an unlocked room where darkness hid the door. But, why?

It wasn't until that moment that he realized; he had not only been holding onto their resentment and intolerance of him, but he had been allowing it to define him. Three years removed from their influence, and yet he was still allowing it to dictate, because he didn't know any different.

They treated him as something contemptible, and so he became contemptible. They treated him with coldness, so he became cold and hollow. They treated him as worthless, and so he learned to make destructive choices. He was a self fulfilling prophecy, and that had to stop.

They had convinced him that he was eternally at fault, and that there was a stigma of shame in the telling. There was, so much was true, at least, but it was theirs to bare, not his. For the first time, Sebastian knew with any real conviction; he did not deserve what they had put him through.

His breath caught in his throat as he tried to draw it in; chocking him. Then, there was movement away to the side.

He thanked the darkness, as he fought for control, which hid his momentary lapse into weakness; a conmen side-effect of conscience lately. Not since the age of two had he mourned his parents open rejection in the manner he did now. He wondered whether anger or anguish formed the healthier mindset, and what the return to the latter proponed.

Sensitivity was something Sebastian would never confess to owning, even less to affectation and morality, but yet, all he had demonstrated yesterday, when his entire world was thrown into disrepute, and he was forced to accept that, contrary to his own conviction, he couldn't do this alone.

Having Nick, Jeff and Trent see him in such a discomposed state as yesterday awakened in him sentiments of abashment, certainly, but not the depth of humiliation he would have expected, because, to Sebastian, that was what any show of weakness was tantamount to. And though he was unsure of everything else, he knew, without doubt that he didn't regret the course events had taken. He didn't regret confiding, because it was the only virtue which anchored him.

Trent had refused to leave him to the destruction of himself; deaf both to implore and demand. Had become a fixture, in the life which had never owned anybody, at the precise moment it had descended low enough for grounding. He was the sight of transcendence in the distance; the first stroke.

Jeff had opened his eyes to the redemption of nature, by putting aside all personal feeling for compassion. Had offered a voice of guidance through the dark; and a hand to capture when he stumbled, showing Sebastian the way home. He was the struggle; the second stroke.

And Nick had demonstrated the divinity of forgiveness by the wronged teaching the wrongdoer, urging him towards release. He was the triumph; the final stroke.

While Sebastian had thanked their kindness as well as being humbled by its extent, he had not aptly comprehended before, what it must have cost them. Nor, what it had demanded, in broad terms, from souls no older and wiser than himself; maturity, honour, principle, courage and righteousness. All stranger emotions to him. And yet he had underestimated each and every one of them; the mercenaries who saved him – had made them feel as worthless as he himself felt. For that, Sebastian was ashamed, more so then he could ever be for any deficit in his character. Minor though it seemed, that was progress.

Any threat they had once posed was removed from him now, because his empire had already fallen, leaving them just four people, who trust might grow between, given encouragement. Like tree's on a desolate field.

Had the roles been reversed and he recast as the victim, he knew he would never had extended the same sympathy to them. And a week ago, he would have held that his choice was the right. But maybe _theirs_ was, because, after all, where would he be without it?

If they had chosen to nurture grudges, he knew, he would be failing to wake one morning. Maybe next week, maybe next year. And that was the brutal truth of it.

That was the reason he had to change, because who wanted to die young? He had held onto bitterness and grief too long already, and where had they gotten him? It was exactly as Nick had said; you only hurt yourself by hating, when the other party didn't care. And it was time for him to learn to love himself, at least, enough for liberty.

Still, he didn't open his eyes, even though he had let the world in. He wanted to anticipate the day a little longer, and discover where it's allegiance lay; in trepidation or ecstasy. Discover some level ground within himself where he could anchor the conviction that life wasn't a game, and it was time for him to stop playing the fool.

The voice of natures minstrel was stirred by the approaching dawn, and he heard a sigh close at hand.

Now they had all witnessed each other exposed, pushed to the very brink of their endurance. Clad in thistle vests of insecurity, and feeble skins of desperation – their only armour in the prevention of hurt; fallible and insignificant – and the experience equalled them; because it had been each other who had drove them there, and the same which had pulled them back. Because it made any comparative strength greater.

The event had bonded them, as hardships and secrets did; a harmonising agent for them all. At once humbling and effacing to see Sebastian brought down a couple of pegs, even for himself.

In a life of everything, he had had nothing. Maybe now, In a life more frugal, the odds would be reversed. He was a royal who had given up kingship for the court.

Few things in life we can certainly say are meant to happen. Often it is merely an identity tacked to those events which unsettle and shake us; a purpose given to purposeless violence or a defining moment of growth – because we needed to believe in reason, and not just the acts of random chance.

But yet, looking back on the culmination of events, none of which could be argued as accident, this seemed the fitting end to a long, drawn out tale; the intended exchange; one beginning for a different end. Enemies for friends, animosity for content, ignorance for enlightenment. This was meant to happen. This was the natural order of things, observed.

"Rise and shine!" Came the inordinately chipper call of a voice he recognised, but whose presence he could not understand. "Come on. Up and at 'em!"

And the speaker even boasted the audacity to prod Sebastian in the side for good measure.

Sebastian groaned unhappily and finally opened his eyes to find Trent, uniform clad and grinning down at him. If that didn't qualify as an unexpected sight, then he didn't know what did. A quick perusal of his surroundings informed him certainly that this remained his own room, one which did not usually boast visitors, but then, maybe that was another workable change …

"Morning sunshine. Just checking you're still alive," he joked.

Sebastian merely stared at him for a second, torn between incredulity and effrontery, perhaps even mild offence – he knew how to handle himself thank you very much. But these, of course, were the thoughtless and natural reactions of a satirical character, and were not him, not any more. He pushed haughtiness aside for generality, and then, quite suddenly, he laughed. A true tickled humour, for it just seemed like such a ridiculous thing to say, and yet the insensitivity made it funnier. He hadn't laughed that way in years, and boy did it feel good.

"I guess so," he replied, sitting up and running a hand through the back of his hair, leading it to further disarray. An action which even held the accusation of being sheepish. "But maybe I shouldn't try my luck again, huh?" Wisdom was a novelty to his voice, restraint, another to his his nature, but now, more than ever, he was beginning to understand their importance.

Trent rolled his eyes and tossed him a pair of balled up socks from across the room.

"Gee, ya' think?"

Sebastian caught them an inch from his face and grinned.

In the brief period of guilt which had forced them together, something unlikely had found substance between them; a mutual respect. A surprising notion for each of them. And, no stranger to wit himself – with Sebastian taken down a few pegs – Trent was more than a match for him.

Neither presumed to acknowledge the fact that Trent had stayed the night, though the truth was obvious. Both chose aloofness, for selfless acts did not look for gratitude and the receipt, sometimes was too delicate for thanks. Even so, Trent knew he had it.

There are some things four people cannot go through without finding at least, some semblance of friendship, and mortality was one of them.

Friendship … Sebastian didn't know how he felt about that. In the past it had been something of an irksome practice, a lesser intimacy which he had never sought. But then, maybe his life could benefit from some positive influence. It couldn't be any worse than what he had had before, anyway. He was a civilian now, so maybe he needed to join the community.

"If you're feeling up to it, get ready and come join us for breakfast. If not, we'll tell Mr. Turner that you still have a migraine." When Sebastian frowned in confusion, Trent tapped the side of his nose in a clandestine fashion. "That's our cover story. And as well as working like a charm, it's the best lie I've ever come up with on the spot," he added proudly.

And so, with a friendly smile, Trent departed, and left Sebastian alone to decide. While the latter took note of his discretion.

Old habits, however, die hard, and Sebastian had for so long shunned thought from every aspect of his life, that it was difficult to reinstate it now for curtsey; for anything. Therefore, his first response, of course, was one of reproof – his natural. But after a few minutes, his resolve began to waver; a warning against the darkness of himself. And slowly, with chastisement, he considered that perhaps it wasn't such a loathsome idea. Certainly the sight of these four walls had become tedious in the last day alone, and so long before that too. Unpretentious company may even be pleasant … perhaps.

This was how it was going to be then – the fight of two natures vying for dominance – suppressing one even as he worked to train the other to stand alone. Two responses; false and true. It made everything so much more confusing.

Resolved to one thing, at least, he got out of bed and began to change, because every great transcendence began with that first tentative step. It was a relief to be master of himself again, if only physically at least.

His new-found respect extended to encompass Nick and Jeff also, but he couldn't know what he would find in return. For, after all, what he had done had been unforgivable; a betrayal about as deep as you could go, and worse. He had made their fear, inescapably, a reality, and he was certain there could be no trust after that. Done to him in so timid a stage of discovery and the revelation would have killed him. Hadn't he already proven once before that jealousy got you no-where?

He dressed with great ceremony, determined to re-obtain that which in the past he had abhorred; routine. And as he pulled on his navy blazer, complete with red piping trim – as he had done a hundred times before – it was like stepping into a new skin; an identity full of infinite possibility.

It wasn't just that he felt different – though that formed a part of it too – it was that he _was_ different. Little things, which had been subjugated by hate, became sensible to him now.

One night had made him re-evaluate a seventeen year old model of himself. But what, precisely had initiated the change? Did the origin lie in consequence, who had at least shown him her true form? Or was it rather observed in confession, held out on for so long because of fe? Both actions had been revelational, and certainly boasted equal accountability.

Recent events indeed, had taught Sebastian to consider the repercussions of his actions, only, this time – for the first time – he didn't think there would be any. At least, not in the sense that he understood them. Because maybe, he had done something right.

A private event shared endorsed the risk of betrayal, engorged the stake of loss, and though panic resonated each time he considered the advisability of his choice, he could not deny the relief of its effects. Though the loss of dominance and pretentiousness (which had always masqueraded as his identity) left him feeling out of touch, like treading the thralls of a surreal dream rather than solid ground, he equally, and ironically, could not deny that he felt better now than he had done in a long time.

There existed a calmness within him, such as he had never felt before; an assurance, conviction and content. There was a hope for happiness, a chance for a brighter future, and for the first time; an echo of faith, which the miscarriages of his life – while he had clung to them – had blinded him from discovering. It was like the first glorious breath taken after rising to the surface of a sea of troubles.

But more than that, the discordant clamour of guilt and doubt, which had stalked and haunted his entire life, deafened him sometimes, to the real world by its intensity, drove him almost mad by its persistence – was banished now, to nothing beyond a background whisper, which he could choose to drown out if he wanted. It was absolutely liberating and pacifying in the extreme. Quickly he learned to relish it, and it gave his conviction strength.

He knew now what he could never bring himself to admit before; that the manner in which his parents had treated him had never been his fault. He did not bare their shame, and furthermore, he would not allow them any more sway over him. It _wasn't_ fair and he _didn't_ deserve it, but their came a day in every fight, when you had to let go of the past in order to secure the future. They were never going to change, but he could. He had the opportunity now to put right the faults they had created in him.

He had always thought freedom was the jurisdiction to do anything you wanted without getting caught; the ability to continually cheat prohibition. And he convinced himself that he found it in the acrid taste of alcohol, in the crude practice of elicit activity and in a life without consequence, which defied every attempt to rule.

But he had been wrong, for within those pursuits, he had never been more incarcerated. Freedom, was the freedom of the mind, was in knowing it and finding peace there, and that was why true freedom was so difficult to attain. Freedom was letting your true colours shine.

Numerous times prior, he had resolved to turn his life around only to meet with the face of spectacular disappointment. But this time, it was different – and he was determined to make it work – because he did not attempt it out of some perceived necessity to change – rather, he would do it because he _wanted_ to. Because this rung with the finality of the last chance he would ever get, because he was determined by hard fought means, to separate himself from them, because he was _never_ going back.

In one deft movement, he crossed towards the window, wrenched the curtains apart and threw it open, allowing the rich morning air to rush in and pervade..

He took a deep breath; from the very depths of his soul, for a moment pausing in a hectic life, just to smell it. The scent was never more alluring than when it was new, and the glistening dew stirred up the scent of the trees.

In seventeen years of living, it was something he had never done, something he had never _thought_ to do. Such a simple thing! And that scent, of unhurried nature, of glowing green innocence, awoke vitality within him. Made him happy, grateful, for nothing more than the receipt of an aroma.

It was a man with a better heart who joined his three almost-friends that morning. But it was also a man who still had a long way to go.

~ * … * ~

They were not expecting miracles, and probably would have been disappointed if they had. Because you did not simply unlearn a lifetime's worth of bad habits in one night, no matter how cruelly you were confronted and forced to re-evaluate. They understood that.

But what they _did_ see, however, encouraged them.

They observed a hesitancy in him which had never been there before, and dare they say it; a demureness. There was an unpractised form of consideration also which, though it often came too late, was evidence of a marvel that it came at all. And a calmness that, without subduing him entirely, at least made his less wild – peaceable in the approach. They were small changes, played on a minor stage, and maybe to anyone other than themselves insignificant. But if there was anything they had learned it was that even the most infinitesimal gestures owned their worth.

In such a public setting, Sebastian, of course compensated for these growing virtues; presuming to any interested eye a dilution of his old hostility. He wasn't ready to show the world at large his humanity yet. And he demonstrated the credibility of his admission; that it was at the times when he was most insecure that he made the world back off. Because, given the right circumstance and perception, fear could pass for everything other than itself, and Sebastian would never willing let anybody know he was afraid.

But, yet, with them alone, he remained as open as he had been yesterday; and, if not relaxed about such a novelty, at least marginally comfortable. And though no-body would ever be able to control Sebastian, they knew they possessed the power to limit him.

Almost against their wills and certainly against their intentions, they had been brought together and bonded, because no-one really knew a person better than an enemy. And in lieu of this, different sentiments also, had found substance between them. Between Sebastian and Nick, there was understanding – for in trying to take each other down, they had discovered things which could never have been otherwise imparted; things within the deepest regions of character. Between him and Jeff there was the beauty and salvation of faith, an assurance that mistake will never disappoint. Exactly what he needed.

Breakfast did not form the certifying affair they had envisioned though, for it seemed their sudden unity demanded unprecedented public attention. True enough, each had made their stand known, but their retraction of it, defied acceptance by the people who had never even been involved. Nowadays, everyone was too interested in everyone else's life. And it was the first time that Sebastian did not relish the attention, for it made something, which should have been fairly easy, uncomfortable.

"Geeze, you'd think we'd been at the centre of a scandal!" Trent complained loudly, offering the interested faces an indignant glance as he lathered his toast with marmalade; "We'd have more privacy as a zoo exhibition!" Because fiction, really, was the only place where mortal enemies and arch nemeses were forever.

Tradition was sometimes the best and worst of things, for it could teach even while it indulged ignorance. It could make a generation unwilling to accept. And,while Nick and Jeff's relationship was a stretch it could just about accommodate, the resolution of friendship from animosity, it could not. If people remained belligerent forever, then where would be the growth?

"Well, let's face it, we are the most interesting people in this place. And to them, we probably _do_ represent a scandal," Sebastian said with feigned nonchalance, who, despite his hunger, only ate sparingly from a bowl of dry cereal, disinclined to revisit a hardier meal. But despite his unconcerned tone, his discomfort was obvious, as he experienced the same expectation Nick had had from his peers in biology. Even without understanding his endeavour, they were just waiting for him to fail, and for nothing more than their own entertainment.

"And to think, I never had you down as humble," Nick joked, with an ease he never thought he would possess around Sebastian, assured now that the practice was not tantamount to playing with fire.

As always, it took Sebastian a few minutes to realize; first the deliverance of sarcastic humour, and secondly, the lack of offence. He shrugged, grinning wryly. What could he say, deference was just not in his nature.

"But I guess we _have_ caused our fair share of excitement lately …" the brunette admitted.

He glanced around at the sea of faces, most of which were turned in their direction, and then back to where his and Jeff's hands lay, clasped, overt upon the table. Scandal may have been an ugly word, but sometimes it boasted beautiful results.

"Oh well, _carpe diem_," he grinned warmly.

"I don't know," Jeff chuckled, "right now I think I'd do anything for a quite life. Someone else should take over for a change."

"Ha, amen to that!" Trent echoed.

It was at the moment that Thad happened to walk past, deep in serious conversation with Luke. Something about their expression, reflected in quadruplicate, however, stopped him in his tracks, and as he glanced from face to face, he was filled with a quiet trepidation. It was the look Wes and David had given him, in their little remembered phase of rebellion, when attempting to coerce him into leaving the grounds during school hours. It was the same look _he_ had given Flint when the beat-boxing Warbler held out on his end of the bargain of auditioning for the Warblers in their Freshman year. That look he knew all too well, and this time, he refused to be a part of it.

"Whatever it is, no. Not a chance," he told them with feigned aloofness, before walking off with Luke and leaving the four Warblers to dissolve into laughter.

Unbeknownst to Sebastian, and in agreement with them all, Nick and Jeff had, last night, found a moment to make Thad aware of all that had occurred, before swearing him to discretion. Because this was going to be an uphill struggle, and they each felt they needed their new Head Warbler onside.

The transition from animosity was easier than their peers would make it sound, because underneath all the hostility, each of them really, had just been seeking peace and security, which meant that tolerance and friendship were not so greater sacrifices. It made every moment they shared more cathartic.

After laughter, living always came easier.

Nick and Jeff were aware that Sebastian, through covert glances, maintained and meticulous vigil upon their entwined fingers throughout breakfast. But rather than break aside their union, which the fear of scrutiny before today had caused them to do, they only held on tighter – because they were teaching him the true conviction of love, and the beauty of a world, which, to him, had always seemed desolate.

When first period came around, and demanded from the besotted a semi-permanent separation, Jeff, at the head of the grand, sweeping staircase, stole a shy but intimate kiss, which left Nick breathless in surprise. And, for an instant in the taciturn heavens, a weak ray of sunlight broke free of its oppressive incarceration, to filter through the frosted glass dome beneath which they stood; setting the scene alight with ambiance.

As best as any three men could, they kept their eyes trained upon Sebastian that morning; a vigilance which boasted the guise of many faces, though none of them distrust – a vigilance which would take a while to taper into ease. Admittedly it formed more a measure of protection from himself than for them, for though they believed in the genuinity of the changes they witnessed, it was equally true that Sebastian was his own worst enemy.

In those initial days, they became like mentors to him, guides in a world which he had never settled. And maybe, just maybe, he began to look up to them.

With the distinct knowledge that he had to keep his head down, Sebastian's unruly conduct in lessons became limited; a few smart comments, whose rapidity beat his will. By comparison even this was an almost saint-like conversion, and no less than a god send for the greater proportion of Dalton's disparaged faculty, who had just about given up on him.

And for the first time in a long while, Sebastian actually made himself receptive to learning again; gave his life a new, and less destructive focus, a distraction, which attempted to win back that feeling of when he had been happiest. For a life without drive festers and becomes susceptible to hate. At least, that was what had happened to him.

He had never proclaimed to feel attachment, and certainly not to something as unremarkable and sentimental as a place, but yet, something about Dalton had slowly won him over, so slowly in fact, that he hadn't even realized it until now. A virtue in the paradise of sin. And he knew he would do anything to stay here; the place where, for the first time, he thought he had found home.

It's grandeur was not, in fact, empty and pretentious, those sentiments had merely been a projection of him; something he had been too blind to see. On the contrary, its grandeur was homely and comforting; the warmth of industrious magic which left him wilfully spellbound.

That day, he saw everything with brand new eyes, and it was like a shadow had been lifted from his sights, whose presence was only really recognised in release. His entire existence had been founded upon misconception.

But there was some small part of him, suppressed for the present, which he acknowledged as temptation, that called for his re-enslavement – though it masqueraded as a threat and fear of change, calling him back to the assurance of all he had known. It was almost impossible to ignore, and yet, he knew he must, because he had already made his choice.

But it was so strong … and his will, with little practice, was weak. This was what divided him, what always had, the will and the weakness. In the victory of one, the other was starved, but that offered no hope of comfort, for in its lifetimes reign, temptation had secured a reserve of strength, which, without help, he could not hope to fight against.

He had never relied on anybody, and now, with no basis in fact, he had no option but to trust in a friendship, whose motivation he still did not wholly understand.

Reasonably, solitude left him tense, but that was perhaps one of the most important things he had yet to learn: how to be alone, both physically and with himself. For it was in those solitary hours when he had sought escape; when thought was granted the reprieve of a false freedom.

It wouldn't be easy, that he had always known, and let it deter him in the past. But what was the alternative now that he had glimpsed both sides? Abstinence and morality had indeed granted him clarity, and found within him, the timid echo of an older and wiser nature, and yet, a younger one, so that, as he considered in hindsight, he knew, really, that there could be no going back.

As recent as two days ago, that conviction would have ruined him, because, even despite acknowledging the necessity to stop, he had never really seen another way forward. Finality intimidated Sebastian because it was something he couldn't control, couldn't bend to his will and change, even if he wanted to. In his deplorable behaviour he had found the false persona's of serenity, worth, excitement, passion and thrill. But now it was time to stop pretending. He had to face what he had spent a lifetime running from, he had to turn round and confront while learning to live again – a condition which was both easier and harder.

He would do it, certainly, because there was nothing Sebastian Smythe _couldn't_ handle … but the truth was there, that conversion was not a straight, single-track road, and he wondered how many times he would fall off the wagon – for failure was the measure of success – before he reached the end. Wondered just how many times faith could survive disappointment.

When, near the end of second period, his phone vibrated in his pocket, he took it out beneath the desk – and immediately regretted the action. The number was unknown, but by the tone of the words, it was not difficult to work out the sender. His conviction, he thought, was unshakable, yet, that didn't mean he was ready to test it.

Nick and Jeff experienced the usual relief to be back in each others arms – except 'usual' implied commonplace and unremarkable, everything they were not. This separation (though it was only for three hours a week) would never cease to torture, and the reunion would never cease to overwhelm them with a thousand highlights of love, that for a moment, left them both breathless. Nothing about them would ever be 'usual' because it would mean that they took each other for granted.

"Miss me?" Jeff teased, melting into Nick's arms and giggling as they wrapped around his waist. It was wonderful for the brunette to see him so confident, he basked in every moment of it, knowing on some profound level that it was his love which had given it back. However, to this unnecessary query, Nick feigned nonchalance.

"Maybe just a little …"

With a sly grin Jeff stood on his foot, not enough to hurt, but enough apparently to cause Nick to call out in surprise.

"Well, now I _definitely_ didn't," the brunette laughed, recovering sufficiently to stick his tongue out childishly at the blonde. But all of it was useless. He was a sucker for those sorry eyes and Jeff knew it. Earnestly, then, he spoke his heart.

"I missed you more than yesterday, but less than I ever will tomorrow." He breathed in Jeff's scent with his eyes closed, overpowered with cologne but still accessible to he who knew exactly what he was looking for.

But in the interest of literary devotion, Jeff disagreed;

"That's not the quote …" before realizing, actually, what he had said, and blushing. That was probably the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to him, and _that_ was his reply?

Nick, however, just winked, brushing his cheek against Jeff's jawline.

"And who said I was quoting, huh?"

That first delicious kiss had emboldened them, taught them not to be so afraid of what people thought, to embrace love in the moment of its occurrence. But even that freedom boasted strict and assuming regulations because the difference between decency and indecency was as minor as its composition would suggest. They would never be crude in their love, but they would be more daring.

"God, get a room already!" Trent called as he approached them, grinning. Always at the wrong moment, but never an intruder. He became the keeper of beautiful moments observed. They welcomed him in earnest.

Their dual relationship; balancing friendship and love shouldn't have worked, but yet it did, it really did – and that was part of what made them so remarkable to their peers, so inspirational and so curious.

Eyes watched them from a distance, but they were none of them unfriendly, just several lives for a moment in time melding with those in which they played no part. It was a secret they sought to understand, because maybe then, they would find the same perfection for themselves one day.

Geography passed slowly, worse because they were distracted; thoughts bent on Sebastian – they wondered whether his lack of presence in the day foreboded an ill omen or good, and whether his resolution, unshakable that morning, had suffered dilution in socialization, and of course, temptation. They would see him next in history, and they didn't know what to expect. Their hearts were in it to edify him, but they also had to be protected.

But while Nick and Trent entertained different courses of concern, Jeff was a figure of content between them, and it wasn't long before they noticed that even the stock of his own optimism had found enhancement.

"What's got you so happy?" Trent finally remarked, looking upon the blonde with amusement.

Nick thought he knew, for what made Jeff happier, besides music and love, than purpose?

"We're doing something good," he smiled simply. For Sebastian _and_ for themselves.

Given all that had happened, happiness seemed like the least feasible response, but maybe that was the point. It was easier to give into the fear of what might have been, rather than find assurance in what actually was. Of course what they had witnessed had been traumatic, of course it could have been so much worse … but it wasn't, and they could either find the strength to move past it, or else face a lifetime incarceration to 'what if.'

Once you considered that, maybe happiness was not such an unreasonable response. Maybe it represented courage; to secure a silver lining in a sea of grey. And once found, it was infectious, because, despite the hardship, they knew with absolute certainty, that they would look back on this one day and smile.

Few of us know, in the inception of our endeavours, whether they are bound for success or failure, but to define either end, the mind must already have instilled an expectation, from which formality dictates, there could only ever be two outcomes anyway.

What they were doing, however, was not so stringent nor so limited, and even then, relative in its success, because anything would be better by comparison. Whether they changed him outright, or merely made him aware of his actions, it would be the same victory either way.

In history, they made their own, by unifying their four forces. And they observed in him, some of the old alacrity, which in youth had made him so remarkable.

Then, at lunch, he forged the beginnings of a brilliant new future, by choosing, for only the second time in his life, to confide in them.

They were seated at one of the periodic congregations of leather chairs and backless couches, which adorned the grand hallway at intervals, feeling the almost mild breeze caress the napes of their necks curtest y of an open window to the rear. Nick was perched upon the arm of Jeff's chair, which Sebastian and Trent occupied either end of the couch.

Subdued even as they exchanged conversation, it wasn't difficult to tell that something troubled Sebastian.

It was a novelty, however, to be able to read Sebastian at all, and, in a peculiar sense, fascinating almost. For, though they understood him, at least as best as any person can, he was like a Rubik cube constituted of contrary colours; a maze with too many finish lines and a single dead end – he worked just a little differently to the norm. But whether it was a throw back from his intellect, or a discordance of his experiences which had forged him slightly out of tune, they didn't know. And rather than mourn it, or allow it substance between them, they embraced it. Not quite patrons of the norm themselves, they embraced difference in the home of strict tradition; outcasts in the thick.

They could have asked him what was wrong – and it tested their restraint not to – but Sebastian, among other things, had to learn to come to _them_. And he had to learn now, or else, he wouldn't. However, he couldn't seem to find the words, and eventually, Jeff took pity on him, breaking down the barriers to speech;

"You're awfully quiet, Sebastian, especially for _you_," he grinned, breaking through the older boys tensions with precision, "are you still not feeling well?"

He knew Sebastian was fine. He had watched him closely all day.

Sebastian blinked forcibly, as if stirred from a reverie, and frowned;

"No … it's not that," he said distractedly, turning his phone over and over again in his hand, seeming both loath to hold onto it and yet put it down. "... It's this …" And quite on impulse, without really knowing what he was doing, he handed the device over.

Accordingly, Jeff took it with puzzlement, and when, after exchanging bemused glances with Nick and Trent respectively, Sebastian offered no further elaboration, and nor could they assume none, he confessed delicately;

"I don't understand."

"Check the texts."

Jeff did, while Trent moved from his vantage point to stand behind the back of Jeff's chair, frowning, reading over the blondes shoulder while Nick leaned in.

There was only one message, from an unknown sender. And when Jeff opened it, it revealed nothing more or less than an address, followed by the single imperative; 'auditorium' and the time; 4:30 pm. While its brevity implied imprudence, it didn't actually make much sense.

And then Jeff looked again, more closely this time, and a small intake of breath behind, as well as the uncomfortable shifting beside, told him that Trent and Nick also, had made the connection. This was the address of McKinley High, and _that_ was Kurt's number, unowned to Sebastian.

Though he didn't freely admit it, they bore no doubts that he knew who the sender was.

It was Nick's worst fear come to light. But was it an invitation to surrender, or retaliation?

Even if they understood nothing else, they understood what it signified. This was the last great stand, the crescendo before the whole reproachful matter was laid to unholy rest. And attendance was paramount, even if their hearts yearned otherwise. But what they didn't understand was what was meant _by_ it. Their victory was already attained, they had their proof, so what could further confrontation achieve?

Though … what would that mean for their attempts to edify Sebastian? What triumphed when two unstoppable forces met; morality, or legality? Two days ago, they would not have even had to ask that question, they would have happily seen him charged. But now, they knew – all it would succeed in doing was hardening him, pushing him beyond the point of any redemption. Punishment would never fix him, it would only make him worse.

And how would they go about – if the need arose – convincing a party more injured than themselves, who they had coincided with to break him no three days ago, _now_ to give him a chance; the boy whose own actions turned everyone against him? And, even, why should they? Why did necessity demand the sacrifice of one beautiful and endearing friendship, for all the good which could be wrought in another unlikely union? Because, if one thing was certain, it was that they couldn't balance both worlds, could they?

They looked between each other nervously. The moment when they held on tightest to him was the moment when they felt him slipping away. The moment when they actually might do some good. They could fight if the worst came, but they thought they might feel they had failed him.

The invitation implied for Sebastian to come alone, but Kurt, they knew, would not expect him too – because Sebastian would not himself fulfil the role of Santana in their version of the production. Kurt, shrewder than any, had perceived the fear in Sebastian, but like Nick before him, had mistakenly presumed it as cowardice.

But Sebastian, it seemed, had entertained a whole separate avenue of thought. Never being taught, he could not see the matter from any other perspective outside of his own – he couldn't see anything they had.

Wringing his hands together, he spoke calmly, but even this control could not wholly obliterate the note of bitterness;

"I don't want to be like _them_. But like them, I'm afraid of facing up to my mistakes. And I guess I don't even have the authority any more to make the Warblers follow me." That last part was scorn, not regret. Something both of his old self and new found home in that speech.

The three friends armoured themselves to confront the blend. They were ready to call him down down if needs must. They had expected a fight somewhere down the line, but maybe not so soon as this.

"Maybe not," said Nick reservedly, carefully, "but you now have the equality to _ask_ them."

"Yeah right," Sebastian sneered. He was a boy who told. He didn't ask. He had never sought anyone's permission for anything.

It was their expressions, reflected in triplicate, which eventually arrested him, subdued him, forced him to consider. And though it took a few minutes, he eventually came around.

" … sorry," he muttered, slightly abashed (which was a grand achievement for him) "Old habits, I guess."

They reserved judgement. With the best will in the world, they could only help him change so long as he was prepared to lead the way. And incidents such as this had the ability to shake even the most iron-willed conviction.

"You know, Seb, control isn't something you should seek, all it is is a pipe dream; an illusion. No matter what we think. Trying to control life is enough to drive anyone insane, because often there's no rhyme or reason why things happen, it's just pure chance. And trying to control the people around you succeeds in nothing but forging a field of enemies. Control's only defined by loss, and it'll never win you any favours. I mean, has it so far?" Trent raised an eyebrow, while Sebastian considered.

What had changed in the reticent boy to make him suddenly so outspoken? Maybe a hundred things, and maybe nothing at all. Maybe no more than the necessity of Sebastian needing to hear it. He was never harsh, but what he was, was honest, which sometimes came across the same.

Nick and Jeff looked between each other mirroring a strange sense of both joy and grief, for it was like watching the older brother taking on the responsibility of the wayward younger in the wake of their parents leave. Far from revealing the worst of themselves, the resolution and indeed, even the manner of their discord, was slowly revealing the best.

Eventually, Sebastian was forced to admit that it hadn't. His attempt was what had found him here in the first place; defeated, and the delay of its arrival had been founded upon a life of borrowed time. No. Control was like a toxin to Sebastian, it transformed him and it blighted, and yet, he had _lusted_ for it, strove to attain it with every bended thought – inadvertently sealing the fate of his own destruction. And even worse, he still did, to an extent.

"Nick's right," Trent continued in more neutral tones, "You'll always find people more accommodating if you _ask_ them rather than command them. And, besides …" he paused for a moments consideration, looking between the blonde and the brunette, for any indication of resistance before he committed them too, "... even if no-one else will go, we will."

Nick and Jeff, who knew him too well, were unsurprised by this extension of good faith, and in turn, nodded their assent, though Nick, admittedly, was a little reluctant. What would be the culmination of forcing two unstable worlds to meet in one single expanse of time? Surely, only more chaos and destruction could ensue? They had proven that much even on considerably better terms.

But Sebastian, it seemed, had anticipated any other response bar this one, because he was momentarily dumbfounded in disbelief. It was a kindness he didn't understand, and had to will himself to trust, because nothing in his life, thus far, had came without a price.

He searched within himself for the tiny glow-worm good of gratitude, but before he could adequately locate it, however, it appeared that Trent was struck by a sudden idea, for he rose with an expression reminiscent of grim-set determination and moved to take his leave of them.

"Where are you going?" Sebastian called with the knee-jerk reaction of tight suspicion. While impulse within himself had been an old friend, in others, he didn't trust it.

Meanwhile, Nick and Jeff looked on curiously, perhaps even second guessing what he was intending to do.

"To prove to you the power of equality …" the sassy Warbler confided grandly, albeit cryptically, winking at them as he left them to wonder.

That simple action awoke in Sebastian a hypersensitivity akin to the response of fight or flight, because it reminded him how unobtainable control now was. Often, when faced with the prospect of something new, we cling to a less advanced version of ourselves – refusing growth for its own sake – and for him, that meant a devious and repugnant shadow, that he was fighting so hard to triumph against. What if he didn't want Trent proving anything in his name? What if all of this was moving too fast, and he could not scrape together the courage to face Kurt with anything short of disdain? What if he just didn't want to do this any more?

But to give up was a cowards way out, because he had always known that this would be hard – it was just, he hadn't expected such a direct challenge and so soon, that for a moment it unseated even that innovative conviction. Most people would want to see him fail, and tried to early, that was exactly what he would do. And for himself, he both desired and feared failure. Torn. Always torn.

Sebastian's brooding temperament aside, Jeff laid his head consolingly against Nick's elbow, as the latter sat still perched upon the arm of his chair. He sensed the guilt which flooded his boyfriend in waves. He understood it, and he understood also that there was nothing he could possibly do to absolve it, because this was something personal in Nick which even their intimacy could not touch, and the truth of that hurt. This was one last fight – like all the rest – which Nick had to go through alone, but was it asking too much now? In the last week alone, Jeff had witnessed Nick reach the highest epitomes of joy and despondency that he had ever seen, and these things had taken their toll. When all of this was over, Jeff would work to rebuild his confidence again, which tests of loyalty and corruption had stole. He would be the strong one for a change, the one to heal, even as Nick had already healed him.

Nick smiled at the contact, and ran his fingers through the platinum hair.

It was only belatedly, and now with some discomposure, that they realized Sebastian was watching them again. And with an intensity which was now verging on intrusiveness.

Little could they guess that in the moments when he faltered, he looked to them as his grounding, future, and dare he admit it; hope. He looked to them for confirmation in something he would periodically doubt; that love _did_ exist, and maybe, one day, it would for him too. They reminded him of everything he was striving so hard to secure – and yet, he himself might have ruined them, might had denied himself this one saving grace, out of nothing more than jealousy and spite. He had regretted the action, even in scorn, and now in resolution the thought of it almost incapacitated him.

"Er, Sebastian … ?" Nick began, shifting a little uncomfortably, and without really knowing how he intended to continue. He could feel Jeff's cheek, hot against his skin.

Sebastian, however, was not listening, was not even really seeing what his eyes descried. He spoke as if from a great distance;

"You know, I used to ask myself; why you deserved to be happy and I didn't." He laughed humourlessly while they frowned. "But that's pretty much the same as asking, if I had robbed a bank, why I deserved to be punished and you, as bystanders didn't, isn't it? People generally get what they deserve. You've never done anything bad in your lives, so why _shouldn't_ you get to be happy? And me … I've never done anything but, so why _should_ I? I understand it now. I prided myself on getting inside peoples heads and toying with them, just because I _could_. Someone like that doesn't deserve to be happy."

He said this like he was satisfied he had experienced an epiphany; as if some revolutionary formula, months in the trialling, had suddenly come to him, fully formed, in a dream. But he also spoke with remove, as if he was not really speaking about himself.

"Yeah, but Sebastian," Jeff said uncertainty, "you can change. You _have_ changed. Please … please don't say you don't deserve to be happy."

But Sebastian still wasn't listening. He was like an actor delivering a soliloquy for the pleasure of himself, who had chanced upon an audience.

The want of love had him confessing things which he would have otherwise retained in secrecy, and without the will to stop.

"I was so jealous. So jealous that you had found exactly what I was denied. So jealous that every moment of waking thought not bent on reckless and self destructive impulse, was bent on contempt. I watched you, and I knew I wanted to take everything from you, because if I couldn't have affection, I would make sure that no-body could. You can never know the bitterness I felt. Something that strong, it feels like it should destroy you. You were both so happy, so at home with one another that I knew, almost anything I did to you, you would find the strength to face head-on. Except one thing. To everything I was trying to do, you were always a threat, because you both knew your own minds too well."

He looked suddenly at Nick, as if really seeing him for the first time.

"That's why I turned you over to my side. Keep your enemies closer, as they say; made you an ally. Which was surprisingly easy with the right kind of bribery and leverage. But even then, you were never predictable, and I admit, I underestimated you. Therefore, the only way I knew of certainly that I could hurt you, and my god, I wanted to hurt you, was by drawing on my own experiences; what I initially had feared and dreaded the most; publication. And so, with cruelty, and no small amount of satisfaction, I told the world a secret that was never mine to tell. I tried to destroy the one thing which I had been searching for my entire life, just because I didn't find it first. But the truth is; I was wrong. I don't resent you. In fact, someday, I want to be _like_ you; wanted, not owned." It was a revelation even unto himself.

Nick and Jeff both felt the emotion of his speech engulf them, but they did not perceive its origin. They didn't not expect that his soul was still so burdened, and with a weight quite apart from themselves.

"Sebastian, why are you telling us this?" Jeff asked, nonplussed.

Nick, however, thought something had finally become clear; a suspicion solidified into fact.

"You loved him, didn't you?" He felt his throat grow tight.

Without shame, Sebastian nodded, and then sighed in regret, putting his head in his hands as if it suddenly weighed the world. Was this not a boy facing up to his mistakes?

Jeff looked upon him then with new sympathy, because, in a different lifetime, Blaine might have been his. He couldn't imagine the heart ache sustained from having to deny affection just because somebody else got in first. But not even that agony gave Sebastian the rights he had presumed – few things in this world were sacred, Kurt and Blaine's love, however, was. How was it then, that you were supposed to assume a removed view of events when both parties had now become intimate?

"But I managed to screw that up too," he said somewhat resignedly.

There was no denial which could be offered. Whether directed at Kurt, or falling upon Blaine, his actions were still the same; abhorrent. And even now, they had no words of consolation they were prepared to offer upon that front.

"Because I thought the world was mine for the taking. I thought I had the right to anything I wanted. I'm not stupid; I knew I couldn't have him, but when had prohibition ever stopped me? No, the fact that I _couldn't_ have him, only made me want him more." He smiled in a sad, self-mocking way, because the friend he had found in irony had suddenly turned foe.

"Well, I guess it has too now. We could have been happy. _I_ could have made him happy. But I can't make him love me, and hurting Kurt would never have succeeded in that anyway. He'll never be mine, and now I guess I just have to find a way to accept that. At this point, I'd even take friendship, but I think that's a lost cause again."

These words, spoken by a wayward youth demonstrated great maturity – something they had hardly dared to expect of him – and suggested the waxing nobility of some higher nature; it hinted at everything he could become if only he held true to conviction through the eye of the storm. The withered rose did not often bare so strong a seed of good.

Nick and Jeff looked upon him in that moments and knew, despite the struggles and doubts they would come to face, in the end, everything would be worth it, just to look upon the changed man of their grace. Now, they just had to teach the rest of the world to put aside prejudice and see …

But first; him – to see that nothing, no matter how seemingly remote, should ever be given up on, and least of all, himself.

"You'll find someone one day," Jeff told him earnestly, in a tone Sebastian couldn't help but believe, "and then maybe, when you're ready, you'll believe you deserve to be happy too."

"And you'll find forgiveness with Blaine yet, in time," Nick added solemnly, "because not even our mistakes are forever …"

~ * … * ~

Whatever Trent was planning, they chose to trust him, because Sebastian was not yet ready to humble himself and make a unanimous peace; possessing neither the inclination nor credibility. And even now, they knew they could never force him. So maybe it was better someone more level headed represented him in the court.

Trent was away for the entire lunch period, and remained exceptionally tight lipped thereafter, urging them only to wait and see, until Nick and Jeff finally gave up asking.

It was with more assurance and doubt than before that they left Sebastian in the afternoon, because he had demonstrated both a great strength of conscience and a great susceptibility to temptation.

And as the allotted hour grew nearer, which forced the two worlds to collide, Nick became distinctly restless. His loyalties were not divided, because he refused to make the distinction between friends, but they were, by unlikely events, extended beyond customary protocol, and possessing the ill fortune to encapsulate two warring parties. However, that was not something many would perceive, and certainly not Kurt, who still, understandably, nursed a too grievous hurt.

He knew he couldn't take the accusation and blame again, given immortality in those eyes. He wouldn't survive it a second time round.

Though not possessing the same character as Nick's concern, which feared the return of deviations mask; the reprehensible version of himself he had both discovered and quashed, Jeff and Trent also grew uncomfortable in the wake of the upcoming congregation. This hour would be the one which would either make or break their sacrifices, and the fate lay entirely in Sebastian's hands.

They knew that going to McKinley was too much to ask too soon, like leading an alcoholic, two days sober, into a room filled floor to ceiling with his choice vintage, and expecting him not to drink – it was always going to end in some measure of disappointment, and they knew already how disastrously Sebastian fared at damage limitation. It would be worse, because they would be able to watch his pressured decisions without the slightest ability to guide him.

Could they blame him if he failed? Could they take heart and re-muster the effort if, indeed, he revealed the worst of himself?

They had wanted all of this to be over – because it _needed_ to be for every bodies peace of mind – but yet they were still roving over scarred ground, still making the same mistakes without learning, or so it seemed. They wanted to protect everybody, but somebody always wound up getting hurt, and what happened when every inclusive party already had?

They became more subdued and distracted as the afternoon wore on; a shadow and panic settling in their hearts so that everything was brought into into super focus and assumed the potential ability to become the piece of straw which broke the camels back; assumed the danger of being too much to bare. In those hours, they were highly strung, and the tension did not go unnoticed.

Then, at three fifteen, they took their fateful walk down to the entrance hall, and loitered, endeavouring to appear inconspicuous. If the (unproven) attack on Blaine had affected anything here at Dalton, it was that large groups were strictly prohibited from leaving the campus together. But then, maybe that wouldn't even be an issue, because contrary to Trent's assurance, they didn't really expect anyone else to come. Their attitude towards Sebastian stood alone.

They each chose their separate methods of agitations relief; Nick paced, Jeff retreated into himself and Trent reassured anyone who would listen, for doubt and controversy, gave him the confidence in the dark to trust, because someone had to stand alone. Sebastian was late.

"Would you guys _relax_," the sassy Warbler implored, as the minutes stretched by and the tension became tactile and almost intolerable. "Everything will be fine. Come on, you owe me a little faith …"

They rather though they owed him a _lot_ of faith after all that he had done.

"I'm too nervous to relax," Jeff smiled weakly, before looking apologetic for the pun as Trent rolled his eyes.

"Besides," Nick muttered distractedly, the fervency of his pacing suffering increase as he spoke; as if by repetitive steps seeking to secure escape from something they couldn't see, "It's not you that I don't trust …"

Jeff frowned. This was the thing he had feared most, because there was nothing he could do to make the determination believe so long as it was resolved to blame itself. Duty shouldn't pait one helpless.

"Sebastian?" Trent second guessed heavily. He knew there would always be some remnant of strain between them, they had gone through too much together for there not to have been, but Nick could do so much good, if only he could limit his distrust. "He's been trying so hard. I'm sure he's just been held up somewhere …"

"I know he has," replied Nick earnestly, "because it's not even him I don't trust." There was definite distress in his tone now, and quite abruptly he seemed to realize that his escapist efforts were futile.

Jeff's arms captured him as he grew still and drew him in close, but Nick did not respond as he usually would. Instead, he almost seemed to shrink away from the contact. Jeff fought against the reactionary hurt, knowing that Nick didn't really mean it; he was angry with himself, not Jeff, but somehow, that didn't make him feel any better. Nothing would while his boyfriend was hurting.

"Then, who?" ventured Trent, not making the leap.

"Myself," Nick muttered in a monotone, starring at his feet.

Jeff and Trent gazed upon each other as their world fell apart, as their strongest link admitted that he was fallible, and a cold, echoing silence seemed to descend upon the grand and familiar hallway, transforming into a strange land which brought their insecurities to life. They had never taken for granted how much he could handle, but perhaps they had, how much the actions of his recent past haunted his conscience. Nick was one of the very best people, which, of course, made his mistakes all the more unforgivable to himself. Maybe they had never perceived it because they thought the assumption discrediting. Jeff had assumed that their love had banished all such doubts, it disheartened him to find out that it hadn't, because maybe he was doing something wrong … ?

He laid his head consolingly on Nick's shoulder, heart breaking when Nick's hand reached up to caress his cheek; reassuring _him_, and sighing heavily, because they knew their hurt, hurt each other too.

"I'm sorry," he apologised softly, "I don't mean to upset you. You know you're the best things that's ever happened to me don't you?"

Jeff nodded before appealing;

"Then why can't you see what I can? Why can't you see how honourable and _guiltless_ you are? Why can't I make you believe the truth?"

Watching them, Trent found it almost too much. Everything they felt, they seemed to feel stronger than anyone else in the world, and it permeated so that anybody close enough to witness was encapsulated in the swell. There was a tightness in the back of his throat, which made him unsure of whether he would rather weep for love or grief.

"Stubbornness, I guess." Nick forced a smile, but it seemed a painful effort. "It's just, I don't see how this time is any different from the last. It's like we've come full circle without changing anything, come back to where we began, and I don't want to find out that I'm the same person."

"But …" Trent frowned, confused, "_everything's_ changed! Look at where we are now. Look at what we're doing, and more impotently, _why_ we're doing it. Look at the two of you! How can you think northing's changed when not one of us is the same?"

Nick looked at him desperately, wanting to believe that what he said was true, wanting to believe that moral deeds and unbelievable chances of happiness eradicated the shadow of sin. That one action, balanced against another could absolve. But he couldn't. Why couldn't he just believe it?

"It's different because of choice," Jeff took up, "it's not the action which really matters, but the intention behind it. It's different because this time, we _chose_ to help him of our own accord, and it's different because this time we're together. It makes _all_ the difference. And I'm never letting you go back, so don't even think on it. You're not the person you were, Nick, not by a long shot, and if you don't trust yourself, or everything good you've done, then at least trust us, because you know we'll never lie to you."

Nick's smile was more genuine this time around, as he worked to do exactly that. Maybe learning to trust _themselves_ – again and for the first time – was something he and Sebastian could learn together.

"Yeah, Nick," Trent teased, "don't forget that this is the guy who told Sebastian he was 'sometimes a jerk.' I don't think he'd be too backwards in coming forwards about telling you the same." He punched Jeff in the arm playfully while the blonde blushed a brilliant shade of scarlet.

Nick laughed and pulled himself closer to his boyfriend, finally sinking into the embrace, loving the rich hue and the nervous embarrassment.

"What would I do without the two of you, huh?" he sighed, "you're like anchors in a storm, always pulling me back to where I belong."

"You'd crash and burn miserably without me," Trent laughed, "screw humbleness."

"You'll never be without me."

Their faith in Sebastian, as in everything else, was rewarded. For, though late, and with some evidence of cold feet, he eventually descended the stairway to meet them. As they watched him, they felt almost a fatherly pride – if such was possible for a peer – because they understood both the struggle and the cost. Already he was proving his distinction from them in trying.

He didn't want to talk. That much was obvious straight away, and they respected it. But as tense and determinedly stoic as he remained, he managed to utter a single word; a curtsey he had never extended in his life before yesterday, because gratitude was an entirely new sensation;

"Thanks."

And though inclined to tirades of witty, if crude remarks, it was when he said least that he actually said most.

They would have thereafter left immediately, but that Trent urged them to stay, watching the time carefully as he continued to neglect explanation. What he had said or done to presume accord, they couldn't imagine, but quite clearly, no-one else was coming. At what point did hope become obsolete to reality?

Then, at 3:35pm, something amazing happened …

The entire remaining breadth of the Warblers, headed by Thad, descended the sweeping staircase to join them wilfully and without hate, in the foyer. In this time of scattered loyalties, they came together, united, to right a wrong.

There was uncertainty in the congregation, assuredly, but there was also conviction and resolve which over-rode. Grudges were not to be held against Sebastian, for in the stand of silence, any ill feeling had been assuaged. The morality of man had never shined out clearer than in that moment when his past actions formed precedent and were distinguished away from by kindness.

Joel grinned at them through the sea of faces, standing at Thad's side; having found a close friendship with the Head Warbler himself; excited by the possibilities of these things which hardly ever happened. Luke, of course, surveyed the scene with interest, for this was the best enigma he had ever lived. Only Theo looked sour, because anything which lacked confrontation and aggression was of no interest to him.

Nick and Jeff were speechless, and Sebastian didn't understand. What had Trent done to convince them? The sassy Warbler, however, in earnestness was all stoicism and modesty.

"The Warblers were founded in a time of tradition, something we have paid homage to and proudly carried through the centuries. But perhaps there is something, lately, we have come to neglect, another paragon of our forefathers; one in which out strength lies, and makes us who and what we are." Thad spoke grandly to his crowd of fellows, and with the backdrop of Dalton's vast and ornate hallway, those words had the capability of making their hearts swell, and their souls shiver.

"Unity! Brothers by choice and music! So, on a day we'll never get back, let's see two mistakes atoned for. Let's take back the control of our own futures, and show the world who we really are."

If any of their number had entertained doubts about his upcoming election – in the official capacity – for Head Warbler, all of them in that moment would have came to nothing. Twelve sets of eyes regarded him with admiration. The thirteenth; Sebastian's, met his instead with uncertainty. And, in a deferential gesture, Thad inclined his head; a mark of understanding, forgiveness and respect. After a moments hesitation, Sebastian returned the action. He understood.

The Warblers would follow him one last time, but as _equals_ as oppose to inferiors. This was what was known as the world doing him a favour. And coveted and rare as that was, he was determined not to squander it.

The swell in their numbers however, boasted one drawback, for it necessitated a more tactical movement; as an unstaggered departure would almost certainly arouse suspicion and delay. Those with modes of transport – Sebastian included – went first, while Jeff, opting to play passenger rather than purveyor, stayed behind.

During this time, Thad said aside to Nick and Jeff;

"I suppose we have to let him learn to face up to the responsibility of his actions, even if it _is_ in his usual pigheaded fashion. And if he needs our help to do that, well … someone reminded me of my _own_ responsibilities."

Trent feigned ignorance to their gaze, but there was no denying, that day won him a lot of respect.

The journey was quiet, and in comparison to their last with him, uneventful and even _comfortable_. Sebastian was apparently through with daring death on the highway.

Jeff, who boasted the most even temperament out of all of them, sat up front with Sebastian, endeavouring to keep him calm; a demonstration of faith between them. And Nick, Trent and Thad occupied the back seat, a pillar of support as much as limitation.

None of their party spoke, having no words of reassurance either for themselves or one another, each working up the courage to face what was to come.

McKinley was as different from Dalton as bread from wine, and Sebastian knew which one was finer. While Dalton exuded class, refinement, pride and sophistication, the mean buildings of the public school exuded only economy.

He hated them indiscriminately, because they represented some of the worst moments of his life, and because he _should_ have had better – but where he was concerned, his parents never exerted themselves or their incomes.

They marched through the alien hallways, full of lockers and generic displays; a million miles removed from their norm, and austere to their incredulous eyes. The hallways echoed both in silence and in sound, and the phenomenon unnerved them. This would never be a place where one could call home. And they couldn't help but consider … Blaine had given up a promising career at Dalton for _this_? … But, no, that wasn't quite right. Blaine had given up the pain of separation for love.

They knew where they were going without the guide of prior experience; to the buildings heart, where every auditorium was founded. To the house where hopes and wishes dwelt, pursued and left abandoned.

They were crossing lives with strangers, and doing it their way.

Voices permeated through the green nylon curtain – the only division now concealing them from affront. For a moment, both parties stood inside the same room, and outside of the knowledge of the other.

Then, almost robotically, Sebastian took up his borrowed position at the head; with Nick, Jeff and Trent behind him. Thad had abdicated instead to keep an eye on Flint – next to Sebastian, the largest unknown quantity – who seemed to perceive this front as a resurgence of the old ways, and was determined to recover favour.

Theo, during this time was a stoic as they came, but somehow, the wilful obedience did not soothe them.

For a moment they hesitated upon the brink, and then, abruptly, everything of sincerity in Sebastian's expression was gone, usurped by the sardonic, malicious mask. The vigour and rapidity of the divergence frankly disarmed them, and furthermore, made them doubt the conviction of everything they had thus far achieved.

Was this measure defensive or sadistic? Did it mean that as long as there was stimulus – and _life_ was his stimulus – that he could never change? They had fought losing battles for honour before, but maybe the wisdom was in knowing how to quit when you were still ahead. They wanted to believe that he was redeemable, but even then, such a little thing shook them.

Sebastian threw aside the curtain and sauntered in, with Jeff looking distinctly uncomfortable behind him, wishing he could reach for Nick's hand, and draw strength. The rest of the Warblers filed in around them.

Arrayed upon the stage were the various members of the New Directions – minus Blaine, of course – appearing ungoverned next to the Warblers cohesion. And yet, somehow, it seemed it was their differences, from the world, from each other, which made them strong; strong as the army of red and blue. Tradition versus innovation.

Trent counted the faces, recognising some among them, though appearing different now when not constituted in horror. Even detracting Blaine, it seemed one of their number was missing, but the face he just couldn't remember.

Nick felt his fears come to life as he looked upon the scene with introversion. He could see Kurt standing among his fellows, but the former counter-tenor only had eyes for Sebastian, and all of his pretentiousness.

"Nice of you to show," called the bi-spectacled boy in the wheelchair, whose commanding presence they had first taken note of in the vocal warfare of 'Bad.'

Sebastian immediately zoned in on him, and the Warblers as a whole, only hoped that they imagined his vindictive glee.

Though Sebastian may have been working on establishing trust, finding morality and responsibility, and curbing his cruel and crude behaviour towards those in and around Dalton, it was clear in that time that the very worst part of himself still did, and would, continue to exist, like a natural sin. Suppressed, maybe, but never eradicated. He had been broken too many times to ever wholly fix.

"Is whatever _this_ is, going to take long? I can't stand the stench of public schools."

"It won't take long, and all you have to do is sit and listen."

It was the petite blonde girl who had spoken, the girl Jeff remembered from the fight, and something about her attitude inspired admiration in him. Here was a girl who knew instinctively how to handle someone like Sebastian. Who had been broken herself, but who had found the strength, alone, to try again.

And Sebastian himself must have sensed something in her manner, for he shrugged nonchalantly and moved to take a seat, in the midst of their formation, looking like a king among beasts. As Nick and Jeff alighted at the end of the front row, with Trent behind them, they though that their pretence was perhaps a little _too_ convincing, because even they were starting to believe it themselves.

Flint had secured a position next to Sebastian – a chance he looked immensely pleased about – and though guarded unceasingly by Thad, it echoed a little too prominently of a recent time which they were all vying to forget.

When they were situated, Sebastian gave a rude, dogmatic jerk of his head, indicating for them to continue.

At what point did tempting fate become a dangerous occupation? Because, right now, the lines were blurred, and even those who would claim to know him, for that moment lost him; like tail lights in the fog. With Sebastian, the prevalence of truth or pretence would always be a little harder to tell.

New Directions as a whole were indignant, and the members who had had the least to do with Sebastian, could not conceal their incredulity at meeting someone so infuriating. Santana, however, was radiant with challenge, because this was her territory, and she knew she held all the cards. None of them could ignore the way Sebastian's eyes were drawn to her.

"We're not doing Michael for Regionals," the guy in the wheelchair said seriously, and the resolve really seemed like a wrench.

"I didn't think you'd surrender that easily."

How could he imbue so great a breadth of discredit into so few words? How could he say more with a smirk?

The Warblers had opted out of doing Michael first, but under Sebastian temporary guidance, no permission was given. The miscarriage of morality was almost too much to bare for Thad, who above all else, was a pinnacle of good sportsmanship, because it wasn't about which team won or lost the right any more. It was simple about keeping an inspiring artists work alive. For the price of vindictive motives, now they both lost out. Two equals still at a stalemate, irresolute to the last.

Kurt, whose whole world had been desecrated by Sebastian, thereafter won so much respect from the original Warblers – and Joel and Luke incorporated – in addressing him with civility now. And though he looked and sounded exhausted, somehow, the deficit only bestowed more gravity upon his words, made even the ignorant sit up and listen.

"We're tired of the fighting and the backstabbing. We're _show-choirs_, we're supposed to be supportive of each other."

Because if _they_ didn't even honour each other with that much, how could they expect anyone else too?

For a moment, Nick looked between the two boys who love for the same had made enemies, and was startled to witness the expression of vindictive jealousy upon Sebastian's face, and not just because Kurt had Blaine.

This was in fact, a small portion of sincerity shining through in the midst of a pantomime, and made him believe, more than anything else, in the redemption of Sebastian. Because it was then that Nick realized; Sebastian resented Kurt his innocence; his first loves success – because it was everything he had lost and everything he wanted back, but could never have. It was a desperate longing which denial had turned into hate.

It was for this unintentional honesty, that Nick held Jeff closer; as a reminder of everything good in this world, and a prevention against the same fate.

"This is what we call; 'taking the high road'" said the mohawked member who, while not overly vocal in their exchanges, seemed, however, to carry the most baring. He suggested danger in a quite different way to Sebastian. "Which I was _shocked_ to find out had nothing to do with marijuana."

There were blank looks exchanged among the Warblers, most of whom did not recognise the reference to illicit substances.

"Just because you're doing Michael, doesn't mean you _understand_ Michael." It was said with the innocent tones of a child explaining to a man his sins, and perhaps, the more provoking because.

"And _you_ do?" Sebastian scoffed, derogatory as always; gesticulating with scorn.

"Yes," the girl Trent recognised as Mercedes from as much as Kurt had talked about her, replied, "and we're about to show you."

Flint was getting restless at Sebastian's side, finding the whole affair which was sparse on action and incrimination, tedious.

The introductory beat was like the re-awakening of a world cursed to ignorance and closed eyes; it sent ripples through the tide, and there was not one person in the crowd thereafter – not even Flint – who could fail to be moved by it; such was its provocation. It was the simple thrill of living captured, preserved and made immortal in a song.

_I took my baby on a Saturday bang. _

_Boy, is that girl with you? Yeah we're one and the same. _

Their style was a paradox to the Warblers synchronised refinement; and yet, it held its own under scrutiny. Without the uniform it had less symmetry, less charm and less class. And it was also wilder, more expressionate, fierce and free – but, maybe those things worked in their favour. While the Warblers dynamic hinged on cohesion and order; actions performed in unison, the New Directions were more geared towards individuality, in every vestige of expression – and yet, somehow, both ways worked. With less of an emphasis on one lead man, and a division of solo's in performance; the New Directions represented an image of what Piers Smith had been vying for, and though his methods were flawed, watching them perform, Nick, Jeff and Trent thought that maybe his victory wouldn't have been so bad. There were no 'just faces in the crowd' or at least, that was how it seemed.

_Now I believe in miracles, and a miracle has happened tonight._

_But if you're thinking about my baby, it don't matter if you're black or white. _

Nick gazed up at the stage with introversion. In a moment of hypersensitivity, he descried the motive behind the action. This was New Directions demonstrating forgiveness in the way they knew how; reminding a hateful figure that there was already too much hate in the world without endorsing it further. This was exactly what Blaine would have done, and though his influence was stretched across two plains, maybe it was stronger for the division. The victimised party tonight taught everyone one else to heal. It was a remarkable man, with friends in both camps, who brought two opposing teams together and made them accept. Often we never give people enough credit, and it is only in times such as these that we recognise our discrepancy. Nick knew that he certainly hadn't, as he gazed up at the stage with astound. This was as event that history would never repeat, and theirs were the only eyes to witness it.

Santana stepped forward and her presence was instantaneous. Even if she deserved no credit in life for compassion, she, in the very least, deserved respect.

A sideways glance at Sebastian confirmed that his attention was consumed by her. There was and would always remain something unwritten between them; some misplaced animal magnetism that circumstance would always deny but never diminish. Something which could have been, and would always linger.

_I am tired of this devil._

_I am tired of the stuff._

_I am tired of this business, so when the going gets rough. _

And, provoking since its inception, Nick, Jeff and Trent were now overwhelmed by the swell of raw emotion which permeated and found their feet tapping and their troubles fading away. It had began with a song, and so, it would end with one too.

They were not the only ones effected. Throughout the two rows there were curious glances cast to neighbours, ascertaining the advisability of expression; Warblers both seeking support, and yet, having the confidence to stand alone should they find none in their ranks.

But Sebastian alone remained incredulous and aloof, mocking to the highest degree, or, at least, that was what he feigned. Maybe he too knew the significance of this moment, but was still riding fear, still running from himself as much as anyone else. Deaf to the message of morality.

_Don't tell me you agree with me, when I saw you kicking dirt in my eye._

Unusually, Sebastian didn't seem to appreciate the irony of the lyrics, looking upon Kurt's fierceness with ever aspiring degree's of scorn. But Kurt was impervious to every sabotage at that time, because he was flying free.

_But if you're thinking about my baby, it don't matter if your black or white._

Then, Trent did something which astounded every one of them, and caused Nick to do a double take. Having spent a night with Sebastian when his life had reached its lowest depth, and ascension seemed but a whimsical and foolhardy hope, having watched him fight for the courage and resolve to survive himself, Trent now feared nothing from his anger. So he took the opportunity to teach him; that it was okay to build those bridges.

One figure alone, crossing a no-mans-land divide, he vaulted up onto the stage, and lost himself in the midst of New Directions performers, becoming part of a picture that was so much bigger than themselves.

But alone, he did not remain, for the various Warblers took their cue from him; Thad, Luke and Joel grinning, even Flint mirroring for conformity.

Jeff grabbed Nick's hand, and meeting with no resistance, pulled him onto the stage, because the brunette needed to know that the actions of his past did not necessitate forgiveness, and this was the only way he would accept.

As his fellows deserted him, Sebastian was left looking as alone as he had felt his entire life. Two resistant worlds finally finding symmetry within him.

Division, mutiny and difference became things of memory and past as they danced under the heat of the spotlights. And the army of red and blue blazers, whose connotations had taken on a different bent of late, became diluted by vibrant hues of yellow, green, pink, black and white; forming a harmony more enriched than a painter could ever render it; becoming again what they once were.

It was a representation of life through the medium of colour.

Bodies embraced, hands were clasped and shook in identification. And in the midst of all of this, Kurt sidled over to the point where Nick, Jeff and Trent danced. He threw his arms around the three of them as one, an embraced like he had never given before in his life. He said nothing, and yet his silence said everything. And as they broke apart, there was not a dry eye in the house.

It had never been about loyalty or the betrayal of that, or the morality of retaliative or righteous decisions - it had just been about friendship. It had always just been about friendship. Nick understood that now.

The song ended to the joyful melody of laughter and the sound of derisive applause, hateful to their relief. Sebastian was put out by their abandonment, certainly, as they each turned to regard him. But then, adversity had only ever made him worse anyway.

"Very moving," he said with spite.

And, standing next to Kurt, finding duty in its place at the side of camaraderie; seeing that he was cornered – Nick offered up an implore to trust, to take that most difficult first step;

"Come on, Sebastian, give it up." Though he disguised it as exasperation.

But Sebastian couldn't. It was as they had assumed; too much come too soon. And, by his own admission, at the times when he feared it most, he made the world back off; they could see him doing it now. His means of defence similarly always a form of attack, and he was vying for a new avenue. Even so his voice was slightly strangled as he spoke, and without the presence he had afore possessed.

"That is the kind of attitude which lost us Regionals last year."

The Warblers disagreed, but no-one presumed to challenge him, perhaps seeing the deflection for what it was, perhaps grown wise to his tricks.

And then, she stepped forward; a siren out of the sea, and Sebastian's attention was rapt. There was something superior in her baring, and the trio guessed its origin immediately. Here was the moment she chose to play her ace, and chose with every sentiment of skill that Sebastian himself possessed.

There was a certain satisfaction in her tone; one they had heard many times before, but a third lower, as she detailed;

"I could call the cops, or your headmaster, and have you kicked out of school, or even _arrested_ for assaulting Blaine with that slushy."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. He possessed no doubt that she could indeed do anything she set her mind to. But this was old territory, they had been there and done that, and he was still walking free, because the reality was, the only testimony they owned was circumstantial, when they needed something concrete. And how were they going to forge new evidence from the past?

"All of this would be so awfully terrifying," Sebastian laughed, "if you had any proof whatsoever."

And that was when her face split into a sagacious grin as she extracted something from her pocket and held it up for the world to see. It was a small cassette tape; unassuming and yet prevalent in the silence.

"You mean like you on tape admitting to it?"

Nick, Jeff and Trent watched the colour drain from Sebastian's face, quicker than ever it had done yesterday in ailment. Up until now, he thought his boast had died in secret in that room. Again, he formed the tool of his own undoing; he was quite literally impaled upon his own sword of arrogance and underestimation. Slower than his colour to react, they watched his smile slide.

Santana gasped with an excess of dramatics, enjoying every moment, as she knew, in their last meeting, _he_ had. Then, she handed the cassette tape over into Kurt's care, having made her point; potential.

Kurt Hummel was a being who had long since rose above petty taunts and playground scuffles, so when he spoke, it was with distinguish, and just a smidgen of pride.

"But you know what? It just wouldn't be as much fun winning Regionals if you weren't there to suffer through the agony of defeat."

And, with amazement, Jeff watched as Kurt tossed the tape to Sebastian. While he was certain that Santana would have retained a back-up copy, what Kurt had done was noble. He gave the misguided boy a chance, for Blaine and for himself. For Nick, Jeff and Trent to teach, even without knowing their vocation. He gave their lives permission to move on, because now, finally, all of this was over.

Relief breezed through them like the eastern wind ushering in the promise of spring. This winter was coming to an end.

But Santana wasn't finished yet, like Sebastian before her, she was determined to have the last word.

"At least now all your team-mates get to know exactly what kind of guy you are."

The majority already knew, or knew in shades of comprehension, and it wasn't as soulless as she supposed, nor as simple. Like her, Sebastian was an enigma – and while generally it took one to know one; even then things could be misconstrued.

Nick, Jeff and Trent glanced between themselves uncomfortably. Because though they resisted it's pull, did the reminder of an old life undo every monumental virtue of a new? And did it change, fundamentally, the person he was to them?

In earnest, Sebastian appeared a little intimidated, though he hid it well. He had learned the hard way the lengths people would go to for revenge, and he didn't trust their olive branch.

"Now, get the hell outta my auditorium. School's out!" Artie called as a parting gesture to Sebastian, before rolling away. The congregation accordingly dispersed.

Like a breeze blowing away the shadow in his heart, the open air changed him; just as the demands of mastery had – caused the mask to fall away.

He had failed, but did they owe him their disappointment? Did it mean their endeavour would never succeed, because the first try didn't? Nay, on the contrary, it humanised him, meant that he was no better than them, and yet, better than a previous version of himself; because, sometimes, things just don't work out.

In comparison to their prior high spirits, the Warblers were markedly subdued as they left the monotonous hallways behind. Thad now walked at Sebastian's side; a presence of restraint, and yet, somehow, consolation – a guide in this troubled reminder of sin; he kept them all holding firm.

Nick, Jeff and Trent were admittedly numb as they walked abreast, occupying a state of disbelief that this was actually over. They had given too much of themselves up into the struggle for its attainment to appreciate the victory now. Tired from the fight, the vintage was one which would sweeten in time.

Against astronomical odds, they had come through this braver, happier, stronger and knowing both themselves and their morality better than ever before. In the worst of times, they had captured a firefly and followed it into the light.

Though, in that moment, seven days – protracted even in their own right – felt like they had melded into one continuous stretch. The free air was sweet, but the dream of it was always better.

What they had expected Sebastian to do with the tape they didn't know, but certainly not keep it, certainly not turn it over and over again in his hand; grasping it like it was the only thing which held him to reality – which held him to the most vulgar part of himself.

For a second, no-one knew each other, and everything was taken out of context, staring down the barrel of a situation which was beyond their capabilities to erase.

And then … they were moving forwards; finding the maturity to try again.

No-one spoke until they reached the cars, and even then, only Thad telling them he would drive on ahead – Flint notably restless at his failed recovery of favour – demonstrating that order had well and truly been restored.

Sebastian sat with his feet out upon the curb, considering the tape from all angles as if hoping to descry something new from a different vantage. On it would be his own voice, his own words, but it would not be him, not now. Those who he had so recently counted as enemies had given him the power to save himself, to make his own future. What more could a blameworthy man ask for?

The trio watched him without quite knowing what to say, and yet, feeling the need to say _something_, because the silence weighed too heavy, and hinted at culpability; the one thing they were trying to avoid.

"You're not the same person any more," Jeff said quietly, but fervently, "use the past as a foundation to build upon and get better, not as a wrecking ball to destroy everything you've achieved. Strength and wisdom aren't things found in never making mistakes, they're found in the resolve to stand up and try again, and especially when you feel like you can't."

Nick and Trent nodded vigorously, because no-one could have said it better; because they were not giving up; because they had gained too much to meet with heartache at the end.

To their surprise, however, Sebastian smiled. Not the derisive grin which was all too common upon his face, but rather, an earnest, effected expression, which somehow, they could not fathom.

He tucked the tape into the inside pocket of his blazer, with all the care owed to a priceless item.

"I know I'm not, but I was thinking; maybe I should keep it anyway; at least as a reminder and warning against the worst part of myself."

As a memento both of what had been lost and gained.

In that moment, they knew their faith bore them well. They had not lost him, nor themselves along the way.

~ * … * ~

Five O clock saw the reinstatement of Warbler meetings, moving forward into a new age. Built upon the foundations of what should have been and what, otherwise, never would, Thad, as newly elected head Warbler presided. He was the recipient of a unanimous vote, and two new members also had been promoted to the council; surprises, it had first seemed, but upon consideration, maybe not.

To say that Sebastian had taken the loss of his standing well was a lie, but, equally, that he bore no resentment, was earnest. He understood now what power did to him, and the temptation of a reprehensible form it yielded, but yet, he had never been denied it before. How did a demi-god assimilate and become a civilian?

So, maybe he was hesitant as he made his way towards the choir room alone, maybe he was afraid – of their derisive laughter; of his own ineptitude in civil exchange. The resolution was well, but now he had to act, because words, sometimes, were meaningless, and faith could grow weak on an absence of evidence.

Even if it took fifty years, he was never going back; not to the life which was nothing more than a shell, housing a vital void. He wanted more than that, he _deserved_ more than that – bit by bit, Sebastian was learning once again how to dream.

The sound of laughter greeted him as he approached, the virtue of undiluted happiness whose vicarious ambiance was as much a stranger to him; of excited conversation rising and falling rapidly; of contentment, though it was abstract, the simple pleasure of company and communion of personalities. All that he had yearned for, and all that he had effectively oppressed.

The living harmony did not subside as he entered, like it once would have done, and though this failing solidified his own fall from grace, he never wanted it to again. Instead he wanted to be a part _of_ it. He would even go so far as to take the place of a face in a nameless crowd, so long as he could hold onto this moment and revisit others similar; because there were some things in life more important than winning, and he now had the extent of his own to discover them.

He spied Trent and Jeff through the assembled crowd, and they spied him in return. The blonde smiled warmly, genuinely, while the other motioned for Sebastian to join them.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, suddenly self conscious; feeling like a stranger in somebody else's skin. An actor forced to take centre stage on opening night and play a character who he had never rehearsed; except, there were no props and curtain calls here – no second chances to do it better. Life raced all around us, and every day we had to sacrifice control just to fly with it.

Change was never easy, but sometimes, it was better. The only way to really ascertain was to close your eyes and jump.

So Sebastian, with a sort of stoic grace, moved towards them, towards the sanctuary and camaraderie they freely offered. Maybe some part of him expected a revolt in return for all he had done, but the truth was, everyone had moved on. The only enduring reminder of his sins survived in the form of a diminutive, unassuming cassette tape. It became a personal knowledge still strong even when other memories waned.

He alighted upon Trent's left – the other side occupied by Jeff – and immediately, inexplicably, relaxed. He was still learning the intricacies of friendship, but he thought, this much, at least, he understood; there were some things, which, when shared, bonded souls upon the most profound level; made them brothers, even if realization took a long time to catch up to fact. Maybe the calmness they inspired would help him find peace.

With amusement ill concealed behind those eternally laughing eyes, Trent adopted a dignified, if aloof and interfering persona, and held out his hand importantly to Sebastian.

"Trent Nixon," he introduced himself with dramatic formality, endeavouring to align his nose and chin in a severe 90 degree angle. "Splendid to have you amidst our humble congregation old boy. I say, we'll put on a corking good show this year chaps!"

Sebastian just blinked at him for a second, while Jeff tore his attention away from the side-door to raise an eyebrow. Clearly this boy needed a more creative outlet.

And then with no pre-arrangement, Sebastian and Jeff both pulled the cushions from behind their backs and simultaneously whacked Trent across the head with them, causing him to fall back into the sofa with an unexpected 'oof.' Rather than an indignant shout, his laughter permeated through the swaths of material; as strong and bold as friendships might.

Jeff's attention, however, was quickly drawn back to the wainscotted door, through which, at any minute, he anticipated Nick to enter. His heart had taken up residence somewhere in the region of his throat, knowing how nervous Nick would be, and knowing he couldn't go to him; could not be the solace of comfort which fate itself had prescribed. His only reassurance lay in the conviction that Nick knew his heart was with him, knew that Jeff was proud; believed in him as he accepted a reward he had never sought, and did not think he deserved.

So much had changed, and yet, here they were, still holding onto themselves throughout. What bigger victory was there to be won than that?

For a second, Jeff closed his eyes, and whispered the words he wanted Nick to hear so ardently across the divide; "I'm here for you and I love you. Every day you make me proud."

And, as if the gesture could bring about relief by the will of want alone, the door which blended so seamlessly into its surrounds, opened to admit three figures.

At once the room fell silent; but this was no longer the silence of oppression; this was quiet reverence; a crowd waiting with bated breath. This was the muteness of salvation, found in the epitome of dreams.

The three figures moved soundlessly to take their seats at the councils table; each a picture of stoicism and grace. Thad, as Head Warbler took up the central position, and finally took to hand the gavel which should have been his from the start; Wes and David's prodigy, the one they would have always chosen to lead in their place.

At his left, for demonstrating maturity, selflessness and a level head in working with an impossible accomplice to achieve a common end, sat Luke; looking a little startled at his placement. And upon Thad's right, for exemplifying charisma, leadership, compassion and initiative in the face of injustice when others had given up the fight, sat Nick.

He found Jeff's beautiful and fathomless eyes even under the scrutiny of a room full of others; found them and sought the comfort of home. He grinned nervously, hardly daring to believe the course of events which had found him here. But Jeff had always known the strength Nick was only now discovering, just as the reverse was true; and his thousand watt smile beamed through the crowd so that Nick's entire world felt like it shifted. For him, the sun had fallen from the sky to burn all the brighter upon the earth.

Luke's features betrayed a rare animation simply drinking in the details. The expression made him appear younger, though without detracting anything of the wisdom.

And Thad, with his resolve fortified, attempted to live up to the precedent his peers had set down, thinking that he had yet to identify some great nobility within himself to carry him through, not realizing he had the strength all along. Because even leaders need, sometimes, to learn.

He spoke with earnestness and yet with affection, which made everyone sit up and listen to the leader who was also, incontrovertibly, one of them.

"While the up and coming Regionals competition, as well as out need to re-elect songs, are, of course, paramount and pressing issues, I want to step away from them for a moment, to reaffirm the importance of something I think it is easy to lose sight of; and that we certainly have. Why we are all here now. The _real_ reason, detracting all the trophies, competitions and renown. What compelled us to join the Warblers in the first place; a love of music and a passion for performance – to have _fun_. So, with that in mind, let's forget about responsibility and competitiveness for a moment, and just do something for the hell of it!"

He stood grinning, with twelve souls enraptured, hanging on his every word.

"My fellow Warblers, and brothers, would you do me the honour of joining me in a impromptu rendition of '_If Today Was Your Last Da_y' an unusual choice, you might say, which Sebastian himself inspired."

Every head turned in the former Head Warblers direction, curious minds trying to descry the connection. Jeff and Trent, however, were in the minority which grinned knowingly; they understood what Thad was trying to do, that which no-one had ever done before – taught him perspective and self discipline.

Sebastian, however, felt his skin burn and a bashfulness descend; sensations he had never met with before, because then he had always _wanted_ people to look at him.

And than, addressing the boy in question kindly, noting his abrupt defensive stance and attempting to soothe it.

"So, sit back and listen, and enjoy being the first Warbler in history to merit a dedication. Maybe the words will speak to you …"

Ecstatic with delight at the return of this elder tradition and all it suggested, the Warblers quickly arranged themselves into typical formation, so that Sebastian was the only member left sitting. And, yet, _this_ time, he did not look alone.

Nick found Jeff's hand, and in the coronation of voices, held it tight, because for them, music would always hold an especial significance; even beyond the call of their peers.

Then came one voice through the crowd, speaking unanimously;

"But … who's taking the solo?"

Thad grinned a little broader as he answered;

"We all are. There are too many voices in our ranks which had gone too long unheard."

There was no signal, no gesture to commence, but as one and in perfect sync, the Warblers basses and harmonies melded together, singing from the heart. Perfect without even the trouble undertaken to practice. More unified in that moment than they had ever been before – they produced a fathomless wealth of sound, which explored uncharted regions, beyond the edge of the map.

Sebastian shivered with the significance of it, suddenly alive in the most provocative sense. Though it masqueraded as wisdom freely imparted to him, really it was a form of healing for them all. Both a beginning and an end, and for the first time, he did not begrudge the necessity of sharing.

The base and melody built quickly and at their epitome, Thad began, never looking prouder than in this moment when his brothers came together, never looking greater than when he reminded them of their passion.

_My best friend gave me the best advice,_

_He said each day's a gift and not a given right._

He faded back into the thralls of the song as Nick's voice rose up and assumed the lead. Smiling, he sung with an empathy that Sebastian's tyrannical influence had suffocated, sung like he was singing his first solo all over again and revelling in the moment; reclaiming the vigour of half spent youth, which one week had taken from him.

_Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind,_

_And try to take the path less travelled by._

_That first step you take is the longest stride. _

And Theo, who followed with dreams of control, but never led; who would remain eternally a wild card, a shadow dogging the footsteps of good intention, echoed;

_(What if? What if?)_

Then, as one, they swelled, dominating even fickle time, which faltered momentarily to listen.

**If today was your last day, and tomorrow was too late, could you say goodbye to yesterday?**

**Would you live each moment like your last?**

**Leave old pictures in the past?**

**Donate every dime you had?**

_(Would you? Would you?)_

**If today was your last day … **

_(What If? What if?)_

**If today was your last dayyy **

Jeff's timidness was banished the moment he began to sing. The same wonderful transformation stealing across him as Nick had observed when they forged their future in the past.

_Against the grain should be a way of life._

_What's worth the price is always worth the fight._

_Every second counts 'cause there's no second try._

Trent's repugnance had been assuaged, because he had never actually gotten to perform his solo. But he showed democracy now that it had made a mistake in passing him over; showed the merest indication of what he had in reserve.

_So live it like you'll never live it twice._

_Don't take the free ride in your own life._

_(What if? What if?)_

Like a wave crashing against the shore, they surged once again, and even more powerfully than before. Throughout Dalton, students and teachers alike were re-awakened to the coveted delicacy of life.

**If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late, could you say goodbye to yesterday?**

**Would you live each moment like your last? **

**Leave old pictures in the past?**

**Donate every dime you had?**

_(Would you? Would you?)_

**And would you call those friends you never see?**

**Reminisce old memories?**

**Would you forgive your enemies?**

_(Would you? Would you?)_

**And would you find the one you're dreaming of?**

**Swear up and down to God above.**

**That you'd finally fall in love.**

**If today was your last dayyyy**

**If today was your last day.**

Positively imploding with opportunity, Joel was given his first taste and sustaining desire, novel to the competitive world.

_Would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?_

Luke, stoic as ever, took everything in his stride, under the influence of music, coming delightfully alive.

_You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars, regardless of who you are._

Flint, still mourning the loss of his station, sung like he was forging a vow in iron;

_So do whatever it takes_

While Matthews soft melody was like a lamb in comparison to a lion, and gave them all grounding.

_Because you can't rewind a moment in this life._

Andrew's eyes were ignited with repressed emotion, an appearance synonymous to fire.

_Let nothing stand in your way_

Christopher smiled wistfully;

_'Cause the hand of time are never on your side. _

The melody faded and the bass took prevalence, accentuating the last rendition of the chorus by its diminishing;

**If today was your last day, and tomorrow was too late, could you say goodbye to yesterday?**

**Would you live each moment like your last?**

And then, it crescendoed;

**Leave old pictures in the past? **

**Donate every dime you had?**

_(Would you? Would you?)_

**And would you call those friends you never see?**

**Reminisce all memories?**

**Would you forgive your enemies?**

**(Would you? Would you?)**

**And would you find the one you're dreaming of?**

**Swear up and down to God above?**

**That you'd finally fall in love: if today was your last day? **

**If today was your last day.**

And with sagacious pride, Thad brought the gavel down with a resounding stroke: the echo of a past revived, and called:

"Warbler's come to order."

Life didn't often offer a second chance at living. But this time, it had.

~ * … * ~

Though cathartic, we all know that these events did not change him. Not the loss of love nor the discovery of friendship, not permanently, but what they _did_ do was lay a foundation. Sustain a glow-worm of conscience and compassion, which he would later come to use as an anchorage, when he divided himself in order to live with the better half.

No, it took a reminder of mortality, quite apart from himself, and yet somehow, even echoing his own, to make him realize; it's all fun and games, until it not. Because in real life, there was no living forever, no spinning again; there was just one try, and everyone was accountable.

The world is small, and when Sebastian Smythe met Dave Karofsky in the bar that night, neither of them could have known the part one Kurt Hummel had played in both their lives, nor the alike temperament they shared; a mix of insecurity, aggressions and fear. All Sebastian knew was that, when Dave tired to take his own life, because of _him_, it opened up within his heart a black hole worse than guilt. Because he knew what it felt like to stand upon that ledge with the conviction that everyone would be better off if you jumped. Because Dave's was a life no greater or lesser than his own – though that took him a while to understand – and the blood would have been on his hands.

One thing, however, would never change. Sebastian would always be a boy who moved in varying circles of extremes.

The Warblers lost out on Regionals, but Thad had taught them well. Stronger than ever before, maybe this was just New Directions year, but they would make sure that theirs was the next. Their new Head Warbler led them with confidence from the start, and a worthy successor he proved, even going so far as to raise the bar for the next, beyond what his mentors had achieved.

Despite some initial uncertainty, Flint, Theo and Andrew remained firm members. And though they represented a continual threat to peace, they were hard pressed to try anything under Thad's omnipresent eye; adding an essence of danger to the Warblers suave performance, which made them all the more alluring. Never eradicated, they were at least suppressed, like taking the sting out of a bee.

Nick and Jeff's relationship went from strength to strength with their friends around them. Always would they represent faith, integrity and truth. They were the first poppy upon the battle-ground, a force of insurmountable good. And to many, they became an inspiration.

It had been an uphill struggle; fighting to keep friendship and love alive in an unjust world. But that was life. Because the best things have to be worth fighting _for._

Sometimes things didn't work out. And sometimes you had to travel the difficult roads in order to find the light.

* * *

><p><em>Writing is a journey. Thank you for taking it with me.<em>

_- One Wish Magic :)_


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